


Static on the Airwaves

by thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic



Series: Changing the Station [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Pump Up the Volume (1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 142,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic/pseuds/thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic
Summary: Newcomer Jason Dean finds a kindred spirit on the airwaves when he's dragged to Sherwood, Ohio and gets caught up in the world of the Heathers and Veronica Sawyer.Meanwhile, Mark Hunter, shy outcast by day and pirate dj by night, ends up the target of Ram and Kurt's revenge, altering his life forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't do this, but I had a crappy day at work, and it's a lousy time of year for me, so instead of doing the responsible thing and updating my other fics, I started this crossover instead.
> 
> I had just acquired a copy of the Pump Up the Volume DVD, and I couldn't help thinking that Mark and JD shared some similar sentiments about their schools, and then I kept wondering what would happen if JD heard some of those broadcasts, if he would have written in and all that, and in the end, I merged the high schools and plots to see how they'd shake out.
> 
> After work and reassessing things, I realized I was rushing the story unfairly, and so I've cut part of the first chapter to rework it and keeping the bit that I thought was kind of like a prologue as the first part.
> 
> Blueinkedfrost found this video that blends the two movies together which might help anyone unfamiliar with either of them.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABe5SrlGWog

* * *

He'd been here less than a full day, and he already knew he hated Sherwood, Ohio.

Knowing his father, they wouldn't be here long enough for it to matter, but that didn't make this hellhole of a town any better. He'd already seen signs of the place being exactly the same as any other when his father marched him in to register him, and while Bud had laid on the charm pretty thick with the principal, he'd kept a warning hand on JD's shoulder the entire time.

He'd done his part, played the sullen but almost dutiful son, and he hadn't said a damned word about what happened the night before in their hotel.

It didn't matter. His father was good at hiding the bruises, and no one had believed him the last time he tried to tell someone. He would never forgive that guidance counselor. That dick had called his dad and thrown him right back to the monster he'd been looking to escape.

He walked back into his room, past the boxes stacked in it, and went to the radio. He didn't bother unpacking them. There was no point. He'd dig clothes out as he needed them, but everything else might as well stay locked up, just like he was.

He started flipping through the band, almost sure he wasn't going to find a good station around here. He'd get stuck with the same old mindless crap that was on every station everywhere.

“You ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up?” A distorted voice asked across the airwaves, and he found himself smiling as he sat down on his bed.

“Why, yes, I do,” JD answered, knowing that the dj couldn't hear him. “All the time.”

“You know that feeling?” the voice went on, almost like he was talking directly to JD. “The whole country is one inch away from saying... 'That's it. Forget it.' Think about it. Everything's polluted—the environment, the government, the schools—you name it. Speaking of schools... I was walking the hallowed halls the other day, and I asked myself... 'Is there life after high school?' Because I can't face tomorrow, let alone a whole year of this shit.”

JD leaned back on his bed, closing his eyes and thinking about just how much this guy, whoever the hell he was, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

Maybe Sherwood, Ohio wasn't half as bad as he thought it was.

* * *

“Yeah, you got it, folks. It's me again with a little attitude for all you out here in white-bread land, all you nice people livin' in the middle of America the beautiful. Let's see, we're on 92 FM... and it feels like a nice, clean little band so far. No one else is using it, and the price is right. And, yes, folks, you guessed it—Tonight, I'm as horny as a ten-peckered owl. So stay tuned because this is Hard Harry, reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do your homework in the dark.”

“God, why do you even listen to this crap, Veronica?” Heather Chandler asked over the phone, and she grimaced, not wanting to hear more about the stupid question that Heather just had to have for the lunchtime poll. “He's just some overgrown boy looking for an excuse to jack off, and who the hell cares?”

Veronica did, and she wasn't the only one. Heather was just pissed because this unknown radio personality was becoming more popular than she was. She didn't like competition. Look at what she was trying to do to Paige Woodward, just because Paige was popular without being a bitch to everyone.

Not for the first time, Veronica wished she'd been smart enough to befriend Paige instead of getting herself involved with the Heathers.

“Sometimes he's funny,” Veronica said, though it was the angst and the bitterness against the school that drew her in more. She swore he went there, to Westerburg, but she didn't know who he was. _And anyone that hates you as much as I think he does is someone I think I like._

“Grow up, Veronica. You're going to a Remington party tomorrow night. Act like it.”

Heather hung up, and Veronica set the phone down in the cradle, grimacing. She knew she'd pay for that tomorrow. She just didn't know how.

* * *

Nora leaned back against her pillow, biting back a groan. The show was already over, one of Harry's shorter broadcasts, and she hated when it was short. She could listen to that voice for hours. She'd tried picturing him and drawing him, but she hadn't gotten very far. Maybe she wasn't supposed to see him. As a voice, he had power.

Maybe his body would ruin that.

She didn't think she cared what he really looked like. It wasn't about that. It was about the way he seemed to understand how she felt—how they all felt—trapped at this hell that was Sherwood, Ohio and Westerburg High.

She couldn't wait to be done with this place, with the popularity contests and the pressure to be perfect like Paige Woodward.

Nora was far from perfect. Hell, she was enough of a loser she didn't even fit in with the rejects or the geeks. Not that she wanted to be a Heather, god no, but she was tired of feeling like the only person she could relate to was some unknown voice on a radio.

* * *

Mark heard his parents arguing again as he came up the stairs. He wouldn't be surprised if it was about him again. That seemed to be the only thing they ever talked about—about, not to—and they seemed to miss the point. If they were so damned worried about him being miserable, why had they dragged him to this backwater town?

And he didn't care what the test scores were like at Westerburg. The school was no better than anywhere else. The same cliques, the same soul destroying world everywhere he turned. He didn't know what he would do if he hadn't had the radio.

His father's misguided gift had been useful after all, even if there was no hope of it ever contacting anyone out east that really gave a damn about him.

He could actually talk as Harry, could say what he was thinking and feeling and to hell with all the people that didn't understand.

Or the Heathers, since he knew that at least one of them was trying to convince everyone in the school he wasn't worth listening to.

It didn't matter. He wasn't doing this for her. He was doing it for himself, to stay sane.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD's first day at school gets complicated when he earns the ire of the popular jocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a plot related reason I changed the way the confrontation between JD, Ram, and Kurt goes. I'm not really going to do much with the musical, but I thought the idea of JD fighting Kurt and Ram fit my plot better than the gun he uses in the movie. The gun would probably keep anyone from going for revenge, but a fight wouldn't.
> 
> And originally, I tried to skip the fight and all the stuff detailed in the Heathers movie, thinking I couldn't add anything to them and they'd been done enough, but I was wrong and probably a bit lazy. I had other points of view and places where the inclusion of the Hard Harry radio program changed everything. So I went back and fixed things, and I hope this is a much better version, much as I wanted to get to the part the summary spoils.

* * *

Nora shook her head, silently thanking whatever powers might be out there that the Heathers had once again ignored her. She knew that what happened to Martha Dunnstock could have been her fate, though she would never have fallen for a note like that. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before the Heathers did something to her.

Even Paige Woodward, little miss perfect, wasn't immune. Heather Chandler hated her, and it seemed like she'd made it her life's mission to destroy her.

No wonder Hard Harry hated this place. There wasn't a single redeeming thing about it.

“I liked your answer to the poll,” a voice said, and Nora looked over at the girl who'd said it. Betty Finn was a few years or decades behind, fashion-wise, and those huge glasses weren't doing her any favors, either. Nora supposed the only reason she'd been spared the note prank was because the Heathers' stooge Veronica was once her friend. “So much better than mine.”

Nora shook her head. “If there really were aliens that were going to destroy the world, it wouldn't matter what we did with the money, so really any answer is pointless. Why not throw a big end of the world party?”

“You said it would be better to use the money to try and organize a way to stop the aliens.”

Nora shrugged. It wasn't that great of an answer. She didn't know that they'd be able to do anything if aliens had invaded. She just didn't want to be someone who rolled over and took whatever life threw at them. She wanted more than that.

“Well, I'll see you later,” Betty said a bit awkwardly. “You are in my math class, right?”

Nora skipped that class more than she went, so she couldn't be sure, but she nodded, forcing a smile as the other girl left. She picked up her own tray and started toward the trash when she heard the linebacker's voice.

“Let's kick his ass!”

The quarterback calmed him down some, but Nora watched them go for the kid in the back anyway. She hadn't seen him in any of her classes, but she dug his look. The trench coat was a statement around here where everyone seemed to be cookie cutter the same.

“You gonna eat this?” Ram asked, shoving his fingers into the kid's food.

“What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?” Kurt asked, and Nora shook her head. Why did everyone think those kind of jokes were funny?

“Answer him, dick,” Ram ordered, leaning as he made the threat.

“Hey, Ram, doesn't this cafeteria have a 'no fags allowed' rule?” 

“Well, they seem to have an open-door policy for assholes, though, don't they?” the kid countered, and Nora grinned. She liked this guy.

She might even be looking at Hard Harry in the flesh. Wouldn't that be something?

“What'd you say, dickhead?” Kurt demanded, looking pissed.

The kid in the trench coat stood. “Guess you're deaf _and_ stupid. Still nothing new, so if you'll excuse me, I need a cigarette before the next round of bullshit.”

“Oh, you're not going anywhere,” Ram said, lunging for him. Trench coat kid ducked, moving out of the linebacker's path and catching Kurt by surprise, nailing a sucker punch to his gut.

Kurt doubled over, falling back, and Ram got even angrier. He charged just like his namesake, but the kid dodged again, letting him run straight into the wall. He hit hard, and Nora didn't think he was getting back up any time soon. The quarterback recovered enough to grab for trench coat kid's foot, taking a kick to the face for his trouble.

The cafeteria monitors finally chose to intervene—probably because they saw their football players were losing, badly—and they pulled the trench coat kid away, dragging him off toward the office.

That was unreal. Nora loved it.

She had to find out that kid's name and if he was Hard Harry or not.

* * *

“Did you hear?” a kid asked, smacking Mark on the back. He looked up from his book with a frown. He'd been at this hell for a few months already, and no one ever bothered him on these steps. That was a hell of a lot better than being inside. He'd seen enough in that cafeteria the first week, between the Heathers and the jocks, and he didn't need to see more.

So he found himself a spot outside, right here on these steps. People came and went, but they didn't stay. He liked that, but then he found a certain comfort in being invisible.

It sure as hell saved him the embarrassment that inevitably came when he tried and failed to smile or worse, when nothing came out as he tried to speak.

Hard Harry talked too much. He could go on for hours, but Mark? He managed a mumble, if that.

“Did you hear?” the kid repeated, like maybe Mark hadn't heard him.

Mark shook his head. He hadn't heard anything, not anything unusual. Everything was the same, kids talking, a few shouts here and there, nothing major. 

“Some kid in a trench coat kicked Kurt Kelly's ass,” the kid said, pushing back his oversized glasses in his excitement. “Ram Sweeney, too. It was awesome. Someone finally gave those two what they deserved.”

Mark would have liked to have seen that. Ram Sweeney had dumped his lunch tray the first day of school, and Kurt Kelly had done it the second. Then he got it from the red Heather, followed by the yellow and the green. After that, Mark stopped bothering with a tray and spent most of his lunch outside.

“Of course, he's the one that got suspended. Can't have the football players out when a game's coming up,” the kid muttered. “I hate this place.”

Mark tried to tell him they all did, but the words wouldn't come. He rose, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He gave the kid a quick, awkward wave and heading out. He knew his father would hear about it—school commissioner's kid cuts class, they always ratted on him—but he thought he'd prefer it over what would be coming.

He would be in for another uncomfortable dinner with his parents, since they were due to give him a speech about violence in school and blame the whole thing on the kid in the trench coat instead of the bullies who'd actually started the fight.

And then, to make it worse, they'd go and ask him if he'd tried to talk to Lance. Mark didn't know why or how Mrs. Fleming had convinced him to act as Mark's guide around school, but he'd been a prick about it, and somehow his parents were still convinced that guy was going to be his new best friend and the cure to all that was wrong with him.

Well, no, they also thought he needed to get laid for that. Of course, they'd throw a fit if he did, but that didn't mean that the cure to all that was wrong with their son wasn't getting a girlfriend.

He shook his head. Unbelievable. He already understood that he wasn't going to make any friends here, and since he couldn't talk to girls, he wasn't going to have one of them, either. He was fine with that. All he really needed was the radio.

* * *

“Suspended on the first day of school,” Big Bud said, shutting the front door behind him. Now came the lecture, all the more fear inspiring because of the silence all the way home. “That's a record, even for you.”

JD didn't bother explaining it. He knew it wouldn't matter to his father that he'd been attacked by those asshole jocks. It wouldn't matter that they'd insulted him and could have sealed his fate if he hadn't acted. No, all his father saw was the suspension.

He wouldn't care about the bruises, either, not that JD had many, since the truth of the fight was that he'd done more to avoid them than anything. It wasn't some great battle, and he wasn't any more of a fighter than he'd been before, but he'd won, and somehow that made him the villain in all of this.

Not that his father cared who the villain was. He wouldn't care if those two had beaten him senseless and left him covered in bruises and broken bones. No, he would do that himself and make the pain ten times worse.

“Does it matter if I won the fight?”

“You?” Bud scoffed. “That's something I wouldn't believe if I saw it with my own eyes. You can't defend yourself against me, so why would I think that you held your own against two football players?”

Because the football players weren't sadists. They were bullies, not someone who'd painstakingly researched where to do the most damage without it being seen. Because bullies weren't expecting someone like him to fight back, and they'd been taken by surprise, something his father never was.

It helped that the one kid was so damned stupid he ran himself into a wall. JD might not have had much of a chance otherwise, not that his father would care about that. His father didn't care about anything. 

Except not getting caught. He did still want to get away with everything, from his violations of the local zoning laws to murder.

JD knew they all thought it was an accident, but he'd seen her wave. She knew what she was doing, and he'd driven her to it. He'd gotten away with it, like he got away with everything.

“You're lucky,” Big Bud said, and JD frowned. “I have work to do, so we won't be finishing this conversation now.”

Yeah, he was lucky. His father sounded pissed enough to do real damage and even leave marks this time around. Sometimes he would be surprised, startled by how bad the pain got and how vicious his father was, even if he should know a lot better by now. This time, though, he knew exactly what was coming and how bad it was.

The blow that knocked him to the floor still stung, and his father leaned over him with a smug smile. “I never said we wouldn't start it.”

* * *

Nora leaned against the desk in the library, wondering if it was possible for a kid who just started at their school to be the same voice that despised it so openly on the airwaves. He could have hated it before officially coming to class, right?

She shook her head at her stupidity and crossed the name off her list. Jason Dean wasn't Hard Harry. She didn't know any good candidates for who might be. Most of the boys here seemed like idiots, led by the two kings, Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly. She didn't think she knew one male around here with any kinds of brains.

She couldn't even count Jason Dean in that. He might have won today, but Ram and Kurt would never let that stand, and he was in for one hell of a beating later.

Maybe Hard Harry didn't actually exist. Maybe the whole thing was fake. He wasn't a teenager, wasn't a student here, and he definitely wasn't actually masterbating on the air.

He had read her letters, though, so some part of it _was_ real. She just wasn't sure which one.

Maybe she'd find out tonight.

Ten o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

“Of course they suspended him,” Heather said, sounding far too smug. “You don't mess with Ram Sweeney or Kurt Kelly without consequences.”

Veronica shook her head. It wasn't right. “Come on, Heather. We all know those idiots started that fight. And he barely touched them.”

“It figures you'd side with the guy making your panties wet,” Heather muttered. “I thought you'd given up on high school guys.”

“Never say never,” Veronica said, thinking she'd like to know a lot more about that kid. Hell, maybe he was Hard Harry. Wouldn't that be perfect? The rebel in the trench coat was the same rebel on the airwaves.

Veronica wondered if there was a good way to find out.

“At least he's been suspended,” Heather said. “And tonight I'm giving Veronica her shot. Her first Remington party.”

God. Veronica had forgotten about that. She didn't want to go. She had heard enough from the Heathers to know that she was not going to enjoy this, and it was going to mean missing Hard Harry when he came on.

Then again, that was half the point, wasn't it? Heather hated Hard Harry, and she would do just about anything to get people to stop listening to him.

“You blow it tonight, and it's keggers with kids all next year,” Heather said, smiling viciously.

Veronica said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. If she kept her mouth shut, made her appearance at the party, and went home, everything would be fine. She would keep her place in the Heathers and it was worth it not to be on Heather's bad side, right?

She was sick of trying to justify that to herself. She really was.

* * *

“Have you heard it yet?” Mark asked, exhaling smoke into the mic. “The buzzword of the day? Come on, I know you have. Everyone's talking about it. They have to be. They can't resist. It's such a powerful phrase in of itself. Violence. We all know what violence is, don't we? We're living in very violent times, and yet we're supposed to take the other path. We are supposed to turn away from the great big bad. The violence.”

He shook his head. It was such a double standard, and he hated it. They wanted to blame video games or gangs when it wasn't even about that. The problems went so much deeper than that.

“They'll tell you that violence is never the answer, but they don't ever tell you _what_ the answer is if it's not violence. They just expect you to find it out of thin air, out of your ass. You'll just know the perfect solution when they don't even know what it is themselves. Oh, sure, the school bully is making your life a living hell, but you can find a way around that. You can just find that elusive bit of peace within yourself. Like heaven or nirvana or whatever mystical outcome you believe in is somewhere inside you. You don't have to fight back. You're at peace.”

He put out the cigarette. “That's a crock of shit. You're not at peace when you're being beaten every day. You're not even in a place where you want to live, but you can't tell them that. They'll think you're psycho and send you to a shrink instead of dealing with the real problem.”

Adults never saw the real problem anyway.

“And you want to know why the real problem doesn't go away?” Mark asked. “Because it's not you. You're not the one creating it. It's the school and the system and everyone who lets it continue. They made this mess, but they don't even see it. Like the forest and the trees. They don't see a damned thing wrong. Unpopular? You need more friends. Cliques? You're just jealous of their popularity. Bullies? Ignore them. They'll lose interest in you. Wonderful advice, isn't it?”

He snorted. It wasn't. It was crap. The whole thing was. “Got a few more gems like that from my parents tonight. Dinner was a nightmare. Some kid at school gets in a fight with the popular kids, and we all know he didn't start the damned thing, but does that matter to any of the adults? Hell, no, it doesn't matter. He's the villain. He's the bad guy. He's the kid who didn't roll over and take it like a good little boy. You're not supposed to stand up for yourself or defend yourself. You're supposed to pretend it never happened. So we go on and on pretending nothing's wrong, but you know what happens then? Gangrene, my friends, gangrene. That cut you ignored is infected, and it spreads all through your body and before you know it, you're dead. Just like that. Dead. Boom. It's all over.”

He reached over and picked up an album. This was older than his usual fare, but what the hell? It was fitting, right?

_“When you were young and your heart was an open book, you used to say, live and let live, but if this ever changing world in which we live makes you give in and cry, say live and let die...”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The broadcast after JD's fight rattles him a little and ruffles a few other feathers as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that I kind of needed to slow down the events of the Heathers movie some to make melding the plots work. There is a key point in Pump Up the Volume that would tie in nicely with stuff in Heathers, but it was too soon for that, and I had rushed to where JD had written in to the show in one of my early drafts, but that wouldn't have happened yet, so I delayed things a bit, and the Remington party ended up changed.
> 
> There's still fallout coming from it, I promise.
> 
> One other issue I've run into is the difference in years between the two movies. You wouldn't think two years would be that big of a deal, but when it comes to trying to be accurate about music and me, it does. I found my knowledge of music from this period ('88 to '90) sketchy, and while I tried hard to make them all ones that were out and relevant in '88 for Heathers, I gave up in frustration when everything I knew and felt went along with the broadcast I was making up was from '89 or later (a few earlier, though, they were okay.) I'll try and keep it close, but I figured relevant was better and I couldn't find things that fit better.

* * *

JD leaned against the outer wall of the convenience store, closing his eyes and listening to the radio. He hadn't expected the clerk to be into the local pirate dj, but he'd come out for a smoke, turned on the radio, and tuned right into Hard Harry.

And damn, one day in school and JD was fucking famous. He knew the story would make the rounds of the school, somehow that always happened with this sort of thing, but he hadn't realized it would be all over the airwaves, too.

“They'll tell you that violence is never the answer, but they don't ever tell you what the answer is if it's not violence. They just expect you to find it out of thin air, out of your ass. You'll just know the perfect solution when they don't even know what it is themselves.”

JD nodded, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. He took a drag, thinking about all of the teachers and counselors over the years that pretended to take an interest in him. They'd fed him a pretty similar line—with the exception of the asshole who'd sent him straight back to his father—and expected him to come up with some fantastic solution to everything that was wrong with his life. Even leaving out his father in that equation, he didn't know how to deal with half that crap that was going on, even the stuff that should have been simple. His mom dying had screwed a lot of things up, and people just didn't understand that.

He didn't understand it.

“You're not at peace when you're being beaten every day,” Harry went on, and JD tensed. Sure, the guy was talking about bullies, but it was like he _knew._ The kid talked like he knew all about what JD went through at his father's hands, the things he couldn't tell anyone. “You're not even in a place where you want to live, but you can't tell them that. They'll think you're psycho and send you to a shrink instead of dealing with the real problem.”

That had happened. After all, he'd made up the abuse according to that one guidance counselor. He needed therapy, and the allegations were just one giant cry for help from a mentally screwed up kid. This was all in JD's head, and he was doing it to rebel, along with refusing to be called “Jason” and wearing so-called scary clothes.

Bastard.

Still, he thought that asshole was a better guidance counselor than weirdo Fleming. She was something else, and he had to think she was still high as she would have been in her hippie heyday even though they'd only talked for five minutes before she sent him off to class.

“Some kid at school gets in a fight with the popular kids, and we all know he didn't start the damned thing, but does that matter to any of the adults? Hell, no, it doesn't matter. He's the villain. He's the bad guy. He's the kid who didn't roll over and take it like a good little boy.”

That got a shudder out of JD against his will. His father expected that last bit, and while he wanted to laugh about being the villain, he couldn't. All of this hit way too close to home.

Who the hell was Hard Harry?

He had a feeling half the school would think it was him, even if he just started. He was a troublemaker. They took one look at him and decided that, and it would only get worse after being suspended on his first day.

JD took another drag of his cigarette and watched a Ford Mustang convertible pull into the lot. He had seen that car before, at the school, and it didn't take long to recognize the girl getting out of the passenger side.

Veronica Sawyer. Well, now. Things just got very interesting indeed, and as it turned out, he was in need of another slushie. He may as well say hello.

* * *

Adjusting the headphones on her Walkman, Nora browsed the aisles of the convenience store, looking for something to snack on. Sometimes she thought she might as well be high while listening to Harry, since she always seemed to get the munchies.

Or as horny as he was, but that was something completely different.

She looked up in time to see trench coat kid making a beeline for the not-Heather in blue at the counter. It didn't take much to see they were flirting, and Nora could only shake her head as she watched them. She would have thought a rebel like that would have better taste than Veronica Sawyer—hell, even Paige Woodward would be a step up over one of the Heathers—but it was clear he was into her and she was eating it up.

Shame about that. He was cute.

Nora turned up the volume, letting Harry's voice drown the two of them out as they discussed the finer points of convenience store cuisine. _Live and Let Die_ had just ended, and she wondered what he might pick next.

“Parents today have this idea that we can all put on these smiles and go on like nothing at all is wrong, that it never was or ever will be,” Harry said. “Sometimes I wonder if they're all on drugs themselves, like they did too much acid in the sixties and it ruined their minds or if it's just today's generation of pharmaceuticals dulling their senses to everything in the world. Here they are telling us that everything is great and good, and they want us to do... hold on a second, I have a perfect song for this...”

Nora tried to predict what it might be, and she smiled when she was right and _Don't Worry, Be Happy_ came over the air.

“That's about enough of that,” Harry said, cutting the song off in the middle. “Don't get me wrong. That song's catchy as hell. It's fun. It's upbeat. It's the sort of thing you want to be singing. Trouble is, we're not happy. We're worried. We're hurting. We're not blind to the things wrong with this world. We know it's fucked up. We don't know what the hell we're going to do about it, though. This is our future, they say. We're about to inherit this world, and it's our responsibility now.”

Nora saw Dean escorting Sawyer out of the shop and grabbed her own slushie. She could use it to cool off before she got home. She had the feeling tonight was going to be a long broadcast, and not one where he fooled around on air.

Somehow that was even hotter than when he did.

“So here we are, inheriting the earth, and guess what, folks? It's on fire. Oh, yes. Now we're all probably a bit sick of this song by now, but how about another round of social commentary? I know I'm in the mood for it tonight.”

She smiled as the first bit of the song played.

_“We didn't start the fire. It was always burning since the world's been turning. We didn't start the fire. No, we didn't light it, but we tried to fight it...”_

* * *

Coming into the party, Billy Joel was blasting from the radio, and Heather got right into the party, completely missing the point of the song as she did. Veronica shook her head, taking the drink she'd been offered by the college guy and finding a place against the wall. The music was too loud, but then she didn't think this song should ever be played quietly. It wasn't that kind of song.

College guy tried to talk to her, and she frowned, wondering why he thought a pickup line about her major would be cute. Like she was too stupid to have one in mind for when she did get to school, or that she wouldn't care what she studied at all. In college, she'd have a choice, and she was looking forward to that.

She was disappointed to find that these boys in college didn't seem to have any brains, either. Five minutes with JD at the convenience store felt like seconds and she wished she'd stayed, but she was only minutes into this party and felt like she was being tortured. She wanted out.

“And there you have it, folks. The reason our lives suck summed up in a three minute song,” Hard Harry said, and Veronica stood up straight, surprised to hear his voice. She looked over to see Heather looking pissed.

Was this some kind of joke?

Heather came toward her, and Veronica figured she was about to be accused of putting the show on the air. “Did you hear that?”

“Oh, yeah,” her date said, catching back up to her. “This guy is great.”

“What?” Heather demanded. “He's so... high school. Why would anyone at Remington care about him?”

“Because he's funny,” Veronica's college guy said, grinning, and she had a feeling he just listened for those times when Hard Harry jacked off on air. If Ram and Kurt ever tuned in, she figured that was all they'd hear, not any of the insightful stuff Harry said about their generation and what was wrong around them.

Well, this guy was that kind of thing, so she wouldn't be surprised.

“He's the best. Parties at Remington aren't parties without a bit of Hard Harry on,” Heather's guy said, giving her a nudge. “Speaking of hard...”

Veronica wanted to gag. Was that really all they were here for? What was the point of being popular if you were supposed to sleep with everyone? Anyone else doing that would be called a slut, and if she did that, Heather could easily ruin her with it.

“And he finds the best music,” her date said in her ear, leaning in like he thought talking about Hard Harry would get him laid. It wouldn't, but she'd rather talk about that than anything else he'd come up with. “Like that song he starts his show with every day.”

 _“Everybody Knows,”_ Veronica said. “Leonard Cohen.”

“Someone knows her Hard Harry,” the guy said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She forced a smile for Heather, who still looked very pissed off.

“And today, my dear listeners, we have one hell of an inferno raging,” Harry said, sounding almost like he was shaking his head in disgust. “So what do we do? Turn our heads away and pretend we don't see it? That's what we're told, isn't it? Here's one for my mother and all those girls. You know the ones I mean. There's a bunch of them around here with the same name, but maybe this one should go out to the lady in red...”

“Listen to that, Heather baby. You're famous,” her guy said with a grin.

_“They're pickin' up the prisoners and puttin' 'em in a pen. And all she wants to do is dance, dance. Rebels been rebels since I don't know when. And all she wants to do is dance...”_

Oh, God. 

Heather's date pulled her out to the dance floor. She kept smiling, but Veronica knew that if Heather had any idea who Hard Harry really was, she'd kill him.

* * *

“And now we come to the part of the show where I stop talking and you get to start,” Mark said, picking up his letters. He had gone on so long he was repeating himself, but he'd been so frustrated by this whole thing. His parents had made the situation at school worse, and he was sick of it.

People like Ram and Kurt shouldn't be allowed to get away with it, and if he knew anything about the Heathers, that red bitch was off partying somewhere, dancing and having a great time, not even thinking about that girl she'd hurt at lunch.

Martha Dumptruck—damn it, Mark was doing that, too—Dunnstock's—humiliation had gone around the school, too. His father had a note from the guidance counselor about it, sitting next to the one about Cheryl, the pregnant girl they intended to expel.

Like Cheryl was the problem. They just didn't want her “corrupting” the others by showing up pregnant, even if most of the kids at the school were already sexually active.

“Yes, it's that time again where Hard Harry lets you take over the airwaves with your letters,” he said, opening up the first one. He would save the red envelope for last, as the “Eat me, Beat me” lady was always good for a finale. “Today we have a few pieces of mail, so my three listeners are still out there, still enjoying the show... or are they? Remember, send your thoughts to Box 2710, USA Mail, Sherwood, Ohio. Reply is guaranteed.”

He opened the first letter and had to laugh. Perfect. “'Dear Harry, I think you're boring and obnoxious and have a high opinion of yourself.' Of course, some of you are probably thinking that I sent this to myself. Not that I don't share some of those sentiments, I asked for truth, and we have truth tonight. People hate me. It's the story of my life.”

Mark forced himself to calm down a bit and continue reading. “'I think school is okay if you just look at it right. I mean, I like your music, but I really just don't see why you can't be cheerful for one second.'”

That was the stupidest question Mark had heard, and he'd been asked the lunchtime poll more than once before. “I'll tell you, since you asked. This ties into what I've been saying all night, actually, but... I just arrived in this stupid suburb. I have no friends, no money, no car, no license. And even if I did have a license, all I could do is drive out to some stupid mall. Maybe if I'm lucky, play some fuckin' video games, smoke a joint, and get stupid.”

He could add in all the things he got to do being unlucky, the sort of crap that happened at the school all the time, the things he avoided only by being invisible. He could go back into his thoughts about the kid who'd been in that fight and the injustice of that situation or talk about the Martha Dunnstock situation or Cheryl's, but he figured those would keep for tomorrow. 

“You see, there's nothing to do anymore. Everything decent's been done,” Mark said. The future held out very little of promise, especially when told by a man like Deaver or a woman like Fleming. “All the great themes have been used up, turned into theme parks. So I don't really find it exactly cheerful to be living in the middle of a totally exhausted decade where's there's nothing to look forward to...” 

He glanced toward the ceiling, thinking of his parents and how little they understood him, how much he was coming to hate them.

“And no one to look up to.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica and JD play croquet as the broadcast finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I will admit, I can't write past a bit of innuendo. I just... can't. I'm not one of those people that can. I've tried, it came out poorly, and I was so uncomfortable with it, I vowed never again. So while this chapter does kind of deal with that sort of content, it's not what it would be if someone better at that sort of thing wrote this part.
> 
> I couldn't even figure out how to do one of Nora's letters on my own and just used the one from the movie, even if it's out of place.
> 
> And the bit with the croquet was kind of a surprise and I think I almost wish I'd written it for a different, not crossover piece.

* * *

Climbing up to a girl's window was a really stupid thing to do, but JD figured he didn't have anything better to do. Thing was, Big Bud would be waiting for him, and he didn't see any point in handing himself over to his father. He'd gotten himself suspended, which in theory meant no one would be looking for him, and no one would see the bruises. Bud could do anything he wanted.

JD didn't think he'd live through another weekend like that, though he had no idea where the hell to go here. He didn't know anyone in Sherwood, hadn't found a good place to hang out besides the convenience store, and it wasn't like he could sleep there.

He'd already gotten some looks from people around the place, and if he'd stayed much longer, he'd get noticed by the kind of people he didn't need trouble from, the kind that actually worried him as opposed to the ones that just irritated him like the jocks at school. Dark clothes, dark hair, and a bike, and somehow he was a drug dealer and competition that had to be eliminated.

Or a prostitute.

He shook that one off and pushed open the window, leaning in. The girl at the desk jumped, almost knocking her radio over.

“Dreadful etiquette, I know,” he began, giving her a smile. “I apologize.”

“It's okay,” she said, and she looked pleased, which surprised him. He hadn't actually thought this was going to work, even if they'd had a good banter back at the convenience store.

“Didn't mean to interrupt,” he said, gesturing to the radio, and she flushed. “You're not ashamed of listening to Hard Harry, are you?'

“You know him?”

“About the only decent thing I've found in this town... besides you,” he said. He wasn't sure what it was about her. She had caught his eye from the beginning, across that cafeteria, and he'd barely looked away since. He needed to know more about her, though the fact that they liked the same dj was a start. That and the slushies. “I saw the croquet set up in the back. You up for a match?”

“You play croquet?”

He shook his head. “No, but I figured I might talk you into lessons.”

She grinned. “Oh, did you now?”

“If it helps, I brought you another slushie.”

She rose, still smiling. “I'll meet you down there. Oh, here, take this. I don't want to turn it off and lose the show, but my parents don't exactly approve of the station if you know what I mean.”

He accepted the radio from her, giving her a salute before starting back down the ladder. If she'd just told him she'd meet him in the yard, he might have worried she was trying to ditch him, but she would want the radio back.

He carried it over to the steps, setting it down as she came out of the other door. He looked up at her, and she smiled ever so sweetly.

“Hi.”

“Greetings and salutations,” he said in return, and he swore her smile got bigger. “So, what's the first thing I need to know about croquet?”

“Well, you might want to know what you need to do to win,” she began, coming down the steps to him. “Or I suppose we could make up the rules as we go along...”

He grinned at the tone of her words, thinking he would like to see what she had in mind. It sounded a lot like they'd be playing with bodies more than croquet mallets, and even though parts of his were still hurting, he liked that idea a lot. “Sounds good. First rule?”

“When you take your turn, you have to share something true about yourself,” she began, and he almost called her a coward. She'd chickened out, hadn't she? She could have asked for a lot more than that. “And it has to be something you don't normally tell anyone.”

That was a little better, he thought. “And the second rule?”

She looked dangerous as she answered, “Every time you miss, you have lose a piece of clothing.”

“You'll have me at an unfair advantage,” he told her. “I've never played before.”

“We can even it up a little,” she said, taking off her shoes and giving him a smirk. “You start.”

* * *

“And now, for the final letter of the night,” Harry said, and Nora sat up, dislodging her sketchbook in the process, almost sure this one had to be hers. She should be ashamed of it, of the kind of things she said to a stranger, the kinds of thoughts she had about someone she'd never met, about a voice, but she wasn't. It wasn't like she had met him and done all those things, and even if she had, would it be that bad? “That's right. It's time to wrap up for the night, and I am holding in my hands a letter from a writer very familiar to everyone. She doesn't write about the violence in the schools today—”

“I might have, if there was anything worth saying about it,” Nora muttered, aware he couldn't hear her but always answering him anyway when he asked a question, “but everything that I might have said, you already did, and even then, it would only matter if you were going to get the note before tomorrow, but you won't, so there's no point.”

“But I'm sure that doesn't matter to you, does it, my horny listeners? You'd rather hear about sex than the angst of a generation anyway,” Harry went on, and she rolled her eyes, though she knew it was true. “And no one talks that better than a certain lady friend of ours.”

She smiled. She didn't think she'd go that far. She had gotten famous for using the words “Eat Me, Beat Me,” but she knew it wasn't that creative. She was getting better, composing new letters in her head when she should be in class, and she was a bit proud of the last one, but they were still tame compared to a lot of the stuff she heard these days.

“'Come in,'” he read, and she found herself mouthing the words along with him. “'Every night, you enter me like a criminal. You break into my brain, but you're no ordinary criminal. You put your feet up, and you pop a Pepsi. You start to party, you turn up my stereo... songs I've never heard, but I move anyway. You get me crazy. I say do it. I don't care what. Just do it.'”

“Jam me, jack me, push me, pull me, talk hard.” Nora said, almost wishing he was there in person to do any of those things to her.

“I like that,” Harry said. “'Talk hard.' I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere... uninvited... just kind of hang out... like a dirty thought in a nice, clean mind. Maybe a thought is like a virus, you know? It can kill all the healthy thoughts... and just take over.”

It already felt like it had, like he had. Sitting there, hidden away like he was, he had no idea what he did to her, to any of them.

“I know that all of my horny listeners would love it if I would call up the 'Eat Me, Beat Me' lady, but no,” Harry went on. “Because she never encloses her number.”

“Tough luck, creepoid,” Nora muttered. Oh, she wanted to know him, wanted to meet him, but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't do that on the air, wouldn't let him call her, and even if she did find out who he was, that didn't mean she'd just sleep with him like that.

“Always the same red paper, the same beautiful black writing. Now, she's probably a lot like me—a legend in her own mind,” Harry said, laughing a little at himself. “But you know what? I bet in real life, she's probably not that wild. I bet she's kind of shy...”

She grimaced. She didn't like thinking of herself that way, but she knew that others might call her that. She was on the outside, not part of any major clique, and her only real claim to fame was her dark clothes—and the letters she wouldn't admit were hers.

“Like so many of us, briskly walking the halls, pretending to be late for some class, pretending to be distracted...” Harry continued, and she wondered if she had seen him, and how many times. Did she pass by him every day at school? Was he in one of her classes? All of them? She had to find him, one way or another. “Hey, poetry lady, are you really this cool? Are you out there? Are you listening?”

“I'm always out here,” she answered. “I'm always listening.”

“I feel like I know you, and yet we'll never meet,” Harry said, and she thought he sounded as disappointed by that as she felt. “So be it.”

And he ended transmission.

* * *

“Thank you,” JD said, pulling Veronica close to him. She liked that, wanting to be even closer than they were, though that really wasn't possible, even after what they'd just done. She hadn't thought she'd do anything like that, ever, and not with someone she barely knew, but their game had been fun, she'd learned a few things, and then hormones took over everything. “That was my first game of strip croquet.”

“Well, you're welcome,” she said, shifting in his arms and considering her options. “It's a lot more interesting than just flinging off your clothes and boning away on a neighbor's swing set.”

“There's a lot to be said for throwing off your—ow,” he said when she hit him, not needing him to tease her about that. She was the one who'd made that rule, but that didn't mean that she was completely comfortable with it. She didn't mind what they'd done. She had enjoyed it, and she wanted to do it again—this time in a bed.

She'd had sex in her yard with a near stranger. She could hardly believe that.

“What a night,” she said. “What a life. They wanted to move me into high school out of the sixth grade because I was supposed to be this big genius—oh, shit. Some genius I am. I forgot.”

She got up, taking his coat with her as she went back toward the stairs. He sat up, and she wondered if he'd try and cover himself or if he'd just sit there, proud. She went to the radio and turned it back up, not sure when it had gotten turned down, though probably when she'd handed it to JD.

“Uh, Ronnie?” JD called after her, picking up his discarded shirt. He pulled it on and came over to her side. “I think you just bruised my ego a little.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, it's fine. It was good. You were good. You were great. I just thought... we were lying there, snuggling, and we could catch the end of the broadcast. Unless you're not really as much of a fan as you say you are.”

“I wouldn't call himself a fan of anything, to be honest,” he told her, “but what the hell? If it gets you back in my arms, I don't mind. I suppose I should be glad you didn't have him on during our game. That would have been a little awkward.”

She thought about it and laughed a bit nervously, knowing no other way to react. “Oh, god, would it ever. Like having a threesome even though there was no one else here. So wrong.”

“You say that, but I'm starting to wonder if you wouldn't like that,” JD said. “Admit it, you were wondering if I could be him, weren't you? At least before now.”

She glanced at the radio. They'd missed anything else from Harry, but JD had come to her window while he was still on. “I guess you could have recorded part of it in advance, right? They do that, don't they? I don't remember any phone calls tonight, but then I wasn't able to hear it all. Heather Chandler hates the show. Oh, you should have seen her. The guys at Remington insisted on listening to the show, and I swear I thought she was going to lose it.”

“I think I would have liked to have seen that,” JD said, digging out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Yeah, you don't like my friends,” she said. She hadn't forgotten that, or his advice about taking a vacation. “If you were Hard Harry, I'd have to worry about you. I swear, she's going to be out for revenge after that lady in red comment.”

He frowned. “I'm surprised she understood the insult.”

“She's not stupid,” Veronica said. “Unlike boys, who get to be popular even if they're mindless, girls have to be smart to manage it.”

“I don't know. Being popular doesn't seem all that smart to me,” JD said, and she frowned. “Are you happy doing her dirty work? You didn't look happy in the cafeteria when Martha Dunnstock got humiliated.”

“I...”

“I know you wrote whatever that was on her tray. I saw you and your friends when you were writing, and I saw the one in yellow go after her. Then she went over to that idiot, and I saw your face. You were ashamed of what you'd done.”

“I guess I should be.”

“Forgery can be a valuable skill, but yours is wasted,” he told her, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her neck, and she bit back a moan. “I can think of much, much better uses for that talent of yours.”

“Oh, yeah?” Veronica challenged. “Because from what I can tell, all you're thinking about is playing another round of croquet.”

He laughed, shaking her as he did, and she liked that. She didn't like it so much when he let go and went over to pick up the croquet mallet. “I suppose it is my turn, isn't it?”

She'd lost track, to be honest. Once the clothes were gone and his honest thing he wouldn't tell anyone else was something about how he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything, things were a blur of touches and moans, about bodies and not about thoughts.

“And I have to admit... I don't want to go home tonight,” he told her, and there was something in his look then that made her weak, not just because he was mostly naked and she was already turned on.

“I already knew that,” she said, trying to sound less affected than she was.

He shook his head. “No, I mean it. There's nothing worth going home to. If I'm lucky, my dad will be passed out drunk.”

“And if you're not lucky?”

JD shrugged. He made it seem almost like it was nothing, but it wasn't.

She looked up at her bedroom, knowing her parents would hate this. “Stay with me. We don't even have to play again. Just... stay.”

* * *

Sitting alone in a room, the only light coming from a computer screen, a teen typed a short note on the computer. The envelope was already ready, addressed and stamped, just needing the letter to go off to a mailbox in town.

_Dear Hard Harry,_

_Do you think I should kill myself?_

_Signed,_

_I'm serious._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday passes in Sherwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of regret the idea of going with the party being on Friday. Mostly because I did try to jump right to Monday after school when I first started and it's part of why I started doing this. I was just going to skip over it, so it seemed like it didn't matter, but I wanted to do more to establish who people were and how the radio show tied into lives.
> 
> I also expanded a bit on a minor character, and that can't be all bad, right?
> 
> Also I combined the staff of the schools a bit, since I couldn't see Fleming as the counselor that Hard Harry spars with, so he's just a part of the department. My high school had one counselor for each grade/graduating class, so it's not a stretch to my mind. And I made the one principal the vice principal, but she's up to her same tricks here.

* * *

“Morning.”

Veronica should be nervous about this, waking up with a boy in her bed—it was new, whatever other experience she had with guys or not—but she wasn't. Somehow having JD there seemed right, and she didn't want to give him up, even if her parents could come in at any moment. Even if he was fully dressed—and he wasn't—her parents would flip if they saw him here.

“Greetings and salutations,” she said, getting a grin out of him before she leaned over to kiss him. She could have gotten caught up in that, morning breath or no, but she was afraid of going too far before she knew her parents had left for the day. “I'm glad you stayed.”

He reached up to brush back her hair, cupping her cheek. “I'm glad you wanted me to.”

“I'll always want that,” she promised foolishly, though she knew better. Most couples in high school didn't last. The longest running example in Westerburg was Ram Sweeney and Heather McNamara, which didn't say much at all, as Ram was a real jerk.

“Except you keep looking toward the door like you expect them to burst in any second,” he said, dislodging her as he sat up. “I should probably go.”

“Won't it be just as bad for you going home now as it would have been last night?” Veronica asked. She suddenly wondered if that was true, but why would he lie about that? Who would make up an abusive father, even if JD hadn't actually said those words? She just didn't want him to lie. “I mean, he'll be hungover, so it'll be worse, right?”

“There you go. You are a genius,” JD said, going for the pile of his things he'd left on the floor. “Yes, it will, but if you get in trouble, there won't be a safe place for either of us, so...”

She caught his arm. “Don't go panicking yet. My parents usually do golf at the country club on Saturdays. It's very upper middle class of them.”

“I see someone has pretensions.”

She giggled. “What, the croquet set wasn't enough of a clue?”

He smiled back at her. “It is a bit unusual. I've seen tennis courts and basketball courts, stables and training rings, even private ice rinks, but yours is the first croquet set.”

She shrugged. “It seems popular enough around here. Not sure why.”

“With your rules? I'm surprised you're not beating off the neighborhood boys wanting to play at all hours of the day,” JD teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“Just stay here. I'll go check to be sure they left for the morning, and we'll go from there.”

“Go?”

She flushed, knowing she'd been thinking of heading right back into bed and ducked out of the room, going to see if her parents were home.

* * *

Nora heard a knock on her door and frowned. She wasn't used to company on Saturdays of any kind. She'd been meaning to get a start on a new piece of artwork, thinking of making something to go along with Harry's words about a thought being like a virus, but she hadn't started yet.

She ran the last bit of the way when the knock came again, opening it with another frown.

“Hi,” Betty Finn began, looking very awkward. “I would have called, but I couldn't find your number in the book.”

Nora nodded. They'd moved just after the yearly distribution of phone books, so their number wasn't the same. The old one wouldn't work, and this new one was only known to a handful of people. That didn't explain her showing up at the door.

“My mom's the local realtor, though, and she said she remembered helping your parents find this place,” Betty said. “I hope it's not too weird that I brought this by.”

She held out a pack of papers, and Nora frowned as she took them.

“What is this?”

“You weren't in math class yesterday, but I got your assignments for you.”

Nora forced a smile. “Thank you. That's... um, sweet.”

Betty gave her a genuine smile in return, and Nora immediately felt guilty. She was so rude. Sometimes she wanted to be, wanted to pride herself on it and be a true rebel, but she was a bit more like Harry said, a legend only in her own mind and shyer in reality than her brazen letters would suggest.

“Would you like to come in?” Nora asked. “I was just about grab some orange juice and do a bit of painting, but I haven't actually started yet.”

“You paint?”

“Sort of.”

“I wish I could paint. Or draw. I don't even manage stick figures,” Betty said. “I can kind of sew, though. I made the costumes that my friend Veronica and I wore for Halloween every year. At first, my mom really had to help me, but now I do them completely on my own. Well, I do mine.”

“Yeah, you used to be friends with Veronica Sawyer, right?” Nora asked, taking out a couple of glasses. “Hard to picture. She just seems to fit in so well with those soulless Heathers.”

“She used to be different. Kind. The best of friends,” Betty said, sounding both hurt and a bit wistful. “I still don't know what happened. Even when she started doing things with the Heathers, we still did stuff together. Until my birthday party. She... never came. When I called her, her mom said she had a big date that night.”

Nora grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and poured a bit into each glass. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Nora didn't really know what else to say right now. She passed the glass to Betty, who took a sip from it, looking both grateful and extremely lonely at the same time.

“You want to see some really bad art?”

“Sure.”

* * *

“I'm telling you, Kurt, we have to do something about this,” Ram said, emptying his beer and throwing the can into the pile. “We might be seniors now, but we can't let that guy make a fool out of us. He has to pay.”

“Focus, Ram. We have a game today.”

“I want to find him and beat the crap out of him,” Ram went on, not paying any attention to his friend. He could picture it, every bit of the pounding he'd love to give that trench coated punk. He'd slam him into a wall a few dozen times, and he'd kick him and hit him so he was covered in bruises as dark as his coat.

“Save the anger for the other team,” Kurt said. “Just concentrate on defense.”

“Come on, Kurt. You know it's not just about what he did in the cafeteria,” Ram said. He took the tape out of his pocket. “This was playing in the locker room earlier.”

“I thought you liked Hard Harry.”

“Yeah, when he's jacking off 'cause it's funny,” Ram said. “He said we're the problem. He took the trench coat kid's side, and everyone who listens to him is taking that jerk's side. We have to find him and send a message.”

“I don't remember him saying anything like that,” Kurt said, reaching for the tape. Ram gave it to him, knowing he'd change his mind once he heard it.

They would get that punk back for this. Oh, he was going to pay, and Ram would enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

Mark put the needle down on the record as soon as ten o'clock rolled around. Somehow the weekends seemed worse than school. His classes sucked, but at least there he had a bit of a distraction from what his life had become in this hellhole. He had teachers and guidance counselors to make him forget a bit of how lonely and miserable he was by giving him too much homework or being so damned flaky he could only scorn their every word.

He didn't mind Emerson, but she was about the only teacher he did have that he liked.

And he'd take her class over a day at home with his parents trying to “fix” him with the stupidest suggestions possible. His father thought that he could join a club and be popular, which was not only false, but what club? Mark was no genius, which eliminated most of the clubs, and he could barely talk, so it wasn't like drama was an option.

Nope, he was alone except for the hours when he pretended people actually listened to him as Hard Harry, and that had become all he looked forward to these days.

“It's ten o'clock. Do you care where your parents are?” Mark asked. “If you're lucky, they're out for the night. I wasn't so lucky. Mine stayed home to stage an intervention. They want me tested because I sit at home all day, naked, wearing only a cock ring.”

Mark knew that wasn't the reason, but he'd rather it was than the embarrassing one it really was: he was a shy loser without any friends.

“I don't know. I mean, everywhere I look, it seems like people are getting butt-surfed by the system. My parents are always talking about the system and the Sixties and how cool it was. Well, look at where the Sixties got them, huh? 'Come on, people, now. Smile on your brother. Everybody get together. Try to love one another right now...' Now that was the Sixties. Except... this isn't the Sixties. And guess what? My dad sold out, and my mom sold out years ago when she had me. And then they sold me out when they brought me to this hole in the world. They made me everything I am today. So, naturally, I hate the bastards. Speaking of which, I'm running a contest on the best way to put them out of their miseries.”

He shook his head, reaching for a cigarette and lighting up. Right about now would be a good time to fake masturbate, but he found he wasn't even in the mood for that.

He turned on a random song, not giving much thought to it. He'd spent all day waiting to get on air, and now that he was, he didn't know what the hell to say. He could always make this a short one, but then all he had to lock forward to was another sleepless night and dull day before going back to the misery that was school.

It was a wonder no one killed themselves here.

“I said something about people being butt-surfed by the system, didn't I? And how I hate the Sixties. I hate school. I hate principals. I hate vice-principals, but my true, pure, refined hatred is for guidance counselors. Hard Harry just happens to have in his very hands a copy of a memo written by one Mrs. Pauline Fleming, guidance counselor extraordinaire, to one Miss Loretta Creswood, high school vice-principal. 'I find Cheryl unremorseful about her unfortunate condition.' Bastard can't even say she's knocked up. 'And she's unwilling to minimize its effect on the morale of the student population.' Huh. Maybe this was actually written by her understudy, Deaver. Sounds like him more than our favorite flake, right? Guidance counselors. If they knew anything about career moves, would they have ended up as guidance counselors? What do you say we call Deaver up, huh? Hard Harry just happens to have the home phone numbers of every employee of the Sherwood, Ohio school commission. Here we go. There you are, Mr. Deavski.”

Mark dialed the number and waited for it to connect.

“Deaver residence. David Deaver speaking.”

“Hey, this is WKPS. You're live. We're doing a piece on high schools. We understand that you're a guidance counselor.”

“I'm practically the head of guidance at Westerburg High in Sherwood, Ohio, alongside Pauline Fleming. I've been here seven years.”

“Could you tell us a bit about what you do?”

“I run a comprehensive American values program in which we discuss ethical situations, sex education, drug awareness...”

Mark found that last one hilarious when paired with Fleming, though he doubted Deaver knew much about ethics. “What do you say to young people who look around at the world and see that it's become, you know, like, a sleazy country, you know? A place you just can't trust. Like your school, for example. How come it wins all of these awards and yet students are dropping out like flies? Why is that? Now, my listeners are curious about your participation in the decision to expel Cheryl Biggs."

“I... I... I'm not aware of anything like that. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Well, that's not true, sir,” Mark said. “'Cheryl refuses to accept suggestions of a more positive mental attitude towards her health and her future. I find no alternative but to suggest suspension.'”

Deaver sounded pissed. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“Do you admit it, sir?”

“Admit what?”

“That you're slime.”

“Now, wait just a minute—”

“You interview a student, and then you rat on her. You betrayed her trust. Isn't that right, sir?” Mark pressed, and Deaver hung up on him. He shook his head, ending the call. “Well, as you can see, these guys are played out. Society is mutating so rapidly that anyone over the age of twenty really has no idea.”

His parents loved to assume that since they were teens once they understood what it was like to be him now, today, when they had no clue and couldn't see what was right in front of them.

“Speaking of clueless, should we discuss a certain other practice going around Westerburg these days? I could name names, but I'm pretty sure no one has forgotten about the _other_ cafeteria incident. Oh, the fight overshadowed it, for which I believe someone might just be grateful, and I suppose I'm not doing any favors by bringing it up now, but I have to wonder, what kind of a person does that to someone else? What is their damage?”

* * *

“Oh, God,” Veronica whispered, burying her face in JD's chest in shame. He wasn't sure she shouldn't. She had known what that letter would do to that girl when she wrote it. JD would have enjoyed it if the letter trick had gotten that bitch in red, but what was the point of picking on someone who was already beaten down by life? Martha Dumptruck didn't have anyone or anything, and she was desperate for that kind of affection.

He wouldn't say that was something he knew about. He'd sworn off caring after his mother died, and it wasn't worth it, moving around as much as they did.

Then he looked at Veronica and he knew he'd wanted it just as much as anyone. Hell, he'd known her for less than a day when he admitted to her what his father was really like and asked to stay. He hadn't gone home since.

“And don't tell me it's this,” Hard Harry said, letting Nick Lowe's _Cruel to Be Kind_ play long enough for the chorus to play and then cutting it off. “It's not. It's just another sign of how screwed up things are around here.”

“I am never writing another one of those letters again,” Veronica said. “I don't care what Heather says. I won't do it.”

“That's my girl,” JD said, giving her a kiss, and she smiled back at him, curling up next to him again. She fit nicely in his arms, he'd discovered, and he didn't really like the idea of letting her go again ever.

“Take heart if you're out there listening. The truth is we're all that desperate. We all want to matter to someone, and even when it seems too good to be true—like me having more than one listener—we cling to it with all we have because we're human and it's in our nature to want that. It hurts when it's not real, but we go on living.”

Veronica was looking at JD now. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He'd seen seven schools in seven years, and the only difference was his locker combination. No one had given a damn about him before, not until Veronica, and he wasn't sure how to react to that. He knew he couldn't afford to lose her, and he also knew if Heather Chandler did do something against Veronica, he'd make her pay for it.

He also knew it was way past time he found a way to get free of his father for good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday comes and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been interesting looking at what people might do when they're not in school (or killing people or hosting pirate broadcasts.) I am a bit glad I was able to explore that some even if I'm really wanting to get to Monday and the school day again.

* * *

“Ram won't stop talking about how he wants to get revenge against that kid in the trench coat,” Heather McNamara said, sighing as she leaned back against her pillows. She curled the phone cord around her finger. “He didn't even look at me all night, and normally after a game, he's a lot more... attentive, you know?”

“Yeah,” Veronica answered. “Look, Heather, I know that Ram is popular and the guy in school people think you're supposed to like and date, but have you ever once considered that maybe you're too good for him?”

“Of course not,” Heather answered, frowning. Where had Veronica gotten that idea from? Heather Chandler had never arranged a Remington date for her. She didn't think Heather was worth it. “I got him over Paige Woodward, didn't I? That has to count for something.”

“Paige Woodward's father doesn't allow her to date,” Veronica said. “It's all about the grades with her. She's so... perfect.”

“A perfect prude,” Heather muttered, though sometimes she wondered if Paige had the better deal of anyone. Heather just wasn't that smart, though.

“Well, not everything is about sex,” Veronica said, and then she let out something close to a squeak and there was some kind of scuffle on the other end of the line.

Heather frowned, not sure what that was. “Are you okay?”

“Um... yes. Fine.”

“You don't sound fine.”

Veronica sighed. “Would you promise me not to say anything to Heather Chandler?”

“No.”

“Then I'm not telling you,” Veronica said. “Look, I think you could do a lot better than Ram. You're pretty and sweet, and those are things people like. Even Kurt Kelly would be a bit of a step up from him. Just—don't let Heather convince you that the Remington guys are better. All that creep at the party wanted to do was get laid, and I get enough of that kind of hassle with high school guys.”

“Yeah, but you actually liked one of them,” Heather said. “Too bad he got suspended.”

“Well, that could have its perks,” Veronica said. “The idea of having him all to myself, no classes to worry about...”

Heather smiled. She supposed that might be considered an advantage. “Seriously, though, if you were dating him, he'd need to watch out. Ram is going to get him back. And Heather said she'd like to do something to him, too.”

“Heather's got it in her head that JD is Hard Harry, and she's wrong. Not only did Harry start broadcasting weeks before JD moved here, I met him at the convenience store while Hard Harry was already on the air,” Veronica said. She muttered something under her breath. “Not that Heather was willing to listen to me about that, either.”

“When Heather thinks she's right, she's right,” Heather said, though she knew sometimes it wasn't true. Heather Chandler just wouldn't see it any other way.

“Crap. I have to go. My parents are trying to drag me to church again,” Veronica said. “I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?”

“Sure.”

* * *

“I cannot believe I ditched church for this,” Veronica said, holding tight onto JD's back as he drove through town. They weren't going very fast yet, but she was still a little nervous. “My parents are going to kill me.”

“I think they'd kill me first if they knew where I spent this weekend,” JD observed, and she laughed, though it wasn't entirely funny. She knew they'd be angry if they knew he'd spent almost the entire time in her bed and that she'd ducked out of family gatherings more than once to be with him.

“Speaking of people killing you, are you sure we should do this?” Veronica asked, fighting the urge to yell, afraid that she'd be too loud even if it was harder to hear now.

JD nodded, turning onto a side street. “About the only time I can, to be honest. It's Sunday, and Sunday is the day Big Bud goes drinking with the zoning commission. Coast should be clear for the next hour or so, and I can grab a few things.”

She sighed, leaning her head against his back. “What are we going to do beyond that? I mean... you can't keep hiding in my bedroom forever. We have to find a way to get you away from him.”

“Don't bother with CPS,” JD muttered, stopping at an intersection. “They don't give a damn.”

She shivered, not sure what that meant and not sure she wanted to know how they'd failed him. She was a bit scared to, to be honest. “There has to be something. What about... Oh, there's that thing. I heard about it with a child actor or something. They got emancipated from their parents to do a movie or something like that.”

“I'm not an actor,” JD said, taking off again, and she had to nod, but she thought maybe they could look into something like that. They'd need somewhere for him to stay besides her bedroom, though, and eventually, his father would come looking for him.

“We'll figure it out,” she promised him. “I'm a genius, remember?”

He smiled, turning into a driveway and stopping the bike. “I do. Come on, my smart lady. We've got a bit of packing to do.”

She slid off his back and onto the ground, feeling a little shaky as she did. He watched her, and she gave him a warm smile, not wanting to admit that it was her first time on a bike. She actually didn't know half as much about them as she'd pretended to when she complimented him on it at the convenience store.

“So, this is where you live,” Veronica said, taking a look around the neighborhood. “It seems so... normal.”

JD snorted, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. He took a drag and let it out. “Let you in on a secret, Ronnie. There's no such thing as normal, and even if there was, it sure as hell doesn't apply to my family. Come on.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him lead her into the house. She passed by a few pieces of furniture, sitting more like they'd been dumped wherever the mover felt like it than actually placed with any kind of plan and stacks of boxes.

“No time to unpack, huh?”

“No point in it,” he corrected. “We... uh... don't usually stick around one place for very long. Not sure if that's because Bud's always chasing something new to explode or he's afraid if he stays too long someone will see the kind of work he really does and put him behind bars.”

“You mean what he does to you?”

JD shook his head. “It's—no, just forget it. We shouldn't stay long. I just figured wearing the same shirt was one sure fire way to wear out my welcome, even with you.”

She almost wanted to laugh, though it was true, and it brought up a new problem. “How are we going to get you a shower?”

JD swore.

* * *

Nora's version of Sunday wasn't much different from any other day in her week. She'd like it to be, but since her parents weren't particularly religious—if they were, they might have taken her choice of decorations and clothing as something to be worried about instead of free expression—she didn't do church, and without school, she had nothing better to do with her time than paint, which was what she did most days anyway.

Today only got a break from the monotony because she'd run out of the colors she needed for the piece she was doing about Hard Harry and the criminal thought he'd raised. The virus. She loved the way he'd said that, and she couldn't wait until he got her next letter.

She wished the post office delivered on Sundays. She would love to see him read it—though she'd like to see it even more.

She went into the craft store, almost getting run down by a couple of idiot boys running out of the store. Sadly, they would probably end up like Ram and Kurt someday. She shook her head, making her way to the back where they kept the paints. She liked this place. Big enough to carry everything she needed, not big enough to be a faceless chain. Too much in the world was already there, faceless and cookie cutter, like the development where she lived. All of those houses were the same, right down to the color. She'd made sure to stick some junk in the yard just so she didn't walk up to the wrong one on accident.

“Black, black, black, where is the black?” Nora muttered to herself, turning through the paint jars. She didn't see the brand she usually used except with glitter, and that would not work for what she wanted to do at all.

She sighed, looking around for an employee. She liked that there was usually not anyone around to pressure her while she was browsing, but today she needed something in particular, and she didn't know why she was in a hurry about it, she just was.

“Excuse me,” Nora called out to the first guy she saw. “I was wondering if you had any more black paint in the back.”

The person turned around, and Nora mentally winced when she realized that she'd mistaken Martha Dunnstock for a guy. She should have known better, and she was glad she hadn't actually said something to make that assumption clear. Martha certainly didn't need it.

“Black paint?” Martha asked, frowning. “Is this some kind of... joke?”

“Um, no, I was just over there in the paint section, and I can't find any that doesn't have glitter in it,” Nora answered. “I just need regular black oil paint.”

“I just put out three bottles,” Martha said with a frown, heading toward the aisle. “And we don't carry paint with glitter.”

“Oh, no,” Nora said, having a very bad feeling about where this was going, and sure enough, when Martha reached the aisle, she stopped to pick up an empty bottle of glitter. It was obvious where that had gone. “Damn, that sucks.”

Martha looked like she'd just been kicked, again, and Nora had to wonder if those boys had done this to her before. “You didn't see a message, did you?”

“Message?”

“There should be a 'dumptruck' or 'wide load' somewhere around here,” Martha said, and it looked like she might be fighting tears.

“Not that I saw, but I came right here, looked at the paint, and then went to find you,” Nora said, wincing. “I'm sorry. That is so wrong.”

“I think we have another box in the back. I'll check for you.”

Nora nodded. She let the other girl walk away and then went around the corner to the next aisle over, and sure enough, there it was, all across the aisle, with a couple of foot prints in the middle of it. Wide Load.

“Hey, Martha,” Nora called, turning to run after her. She jogged up to her. “Look, I found the message, but the kids stepped in it, and I'm pretty sure I saw them on the way out. If you want to call the police, I'll tell them what I know.”

Martha snorted. “We've caught them in the middle of it before and no one does anything about it. They even laughed at the dumptruck one.”

Nora shook her head. “That is so wrong.”

“I have to clean it up, but I'll find your paint first.”

“Look, don't worry about it. It's not that important. It's not like I can show it to him or anything,” Nora said, and then she flushed. “Um... it's kind of stupid. I was going to do a project on something Hard Harry said the other night.”

“Who?”

“Hard Harry. Or Happy Harry Hard-on. He uses both names. Pirate dj. He broadcasts every night about ten o'clock,” Nora explained. She actually hadn't met anyone who hadn't at least heard of the show, but then Martha was isolated from just about everyone because of her weight. Maybe no one had mentioned it, or maybe she had parents who were a lot stricter than Nora's. Did Martha even own a radio? “I wish I had one of my tapes with me. Any of them would be fine, but last night's would be the best. The show last night was good. You should have heard it.”

“I closed last night,” Martha said. “Not that I knew about any radio show.”

“Tell you what,” Nora began, “what do you say I help you clean up that mess, and then if you do choose to look for my paint, I'll run back home and get that tape from last night?”

Martha smiled. “I'd like that.”

* * *

Mark fed his lizard a cricket and turned on the radio, letting Leonard Cohen go across the airwaves again. He'd gone through the motions again today, attending church with his parents because it was expected, though he didn't think either of them believed in it, and it was just another example of the rampant hypocrisy around here, since he'd seen the idiot jocks and all of the Heathers there. Not the honorary one, but really, having Heather Chandler there made it enough of a farce, what with the whole sermon being about kindness and what made a good neighbor.

None of those girls would qualify for the good Samaritan.

He shook his head and reached for a cigarette. He smoked so much more during his broadcasts, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

“It's ten o'clock, my dear listeners, and we close on a Sunday full of corruption. I got my Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi, and I got my Blackjack gum here. And I got that feeling. Yeah, that familiar feeling that something rank is going down out there. Yeah, I can smell it. I can almost taste it—the rankness in the air. It's everywhere. It's running through that old pipeline out there, trickling along that dumb concrete river and coming up through the drains of those lovely tract homes we all live in.”

He took a drag and blew out the smoke, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that most of us live in. Some precious few get to break free of the cookie cutter mold and have those old homes that date back centuries—with the money to go with them. The rest of us are forced to make do with the same old bland structure that passes for suburban America these days. What is with all the beige, anyway?”

He wished his house was one of the exceptions, painted a different color from his neighbors, but they were all the same on this street, and his parents didn't even think it was worth decorating the outside of them.

“Beige is bland, and they say bland is soothing. I say that it's another sign that we've all sold out. We don't even know how to have anything original anymore. It's all been said and done. And as I say that, I remember a very famous song that said it before I did. 'Nothing you can do that hasn't been done. Nothing you can sing that can't be sung... nothing you can make that can't be made.' Of course, I disagree with the rest of that message, since I think the world needs a lot more than love.”

It still irritated him how much his parents thought getting a girlfriend would fix him. 

“I saved a few of yesterday's letters for today. Kind of a shame there isn't mail delivery on Sunday. I mean, what the hell, right? We might need that red envelope or the check that's in the mail today, not tomorrow. I could use a few dozen red envelopes a day if you know what I mean.”

He laughed, giving another thought to the poetry lady. He would like to meet her, though knowing him, if he did, he wouldn't manage to speak to her at all.

He'd been invisible at church. Not even the pastor had tried to speak to him.

“We'll begin with this lucky envelope right here. Nice and plain and white. 'Dear Hard Harry. My boyfriend won't talk to me anymore. How do I show him that I really love him?'”

Mark winced. He'd picked a real winner with that one. He had no fucking clue what to say, and they all knew that. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten one like that. “Look, I don't know anything about these letters asking for love advice. If I knew anything about love, I would be out there making it instead of sitting in here talking to you guys.”

He spun around in his chair. “Now if you want to ask me about self-love, I think I'm a bit more of an expert, but since you're not... Let's go for another letter. Another plain envelope, cute stamp. Clean handwriting, nice and legible...”

This was a long one. He probably should skim it before reading the whole thing aloud and embarrassing himself again, but he didn't see any obvious signs of a prank, and the silence was getting a bit awkward. He should have put on music.

“'Dear Hard Harry,'” he read off instead. “'I like that you see past all the pretenses, past the lies we make for ourselves. Some of us are so deep in them we can't even see them. We have to do what's expected of us, act just the way everyone thinks we should. We have to be pretty. We have to be flawless. People look right at you and never see one bit of pain because you're pretty. You're college bound. You have some money. And that somehow makes you perfect.'”

He paused, reaching for his drink and taking a sip. “'We go through these same motions every day, never once letting anyone see just how sick of them we are. We don't dare. We don't dare tell anyone how we really feel. We can be the most popular girl in school and yet everything is dismal and bleak.'”

He frowned. He'd missed that line. Damn. That was not good. This made it sound almost like the letter was from Heather Chandler, and he knew he'd heard her mocking the show. She hated him, didn't she? So what was with this? A joke? A prank?

“'Sometimes I wonder if you're the only one who sees the school and everyone in it for what we really are. Strip away the illusions, stop the motions. Make us real. You call us on our shit every night, and yet none of us are brave enough to admit how wrong we are. Most of us don't even admit to listening to you. If we're asked, we deny it. We turn down the radio when someone comes into the room. We claim it's for the music, the random things you select for us. Or we claim it's just to listen to you masturbate because for some reason that's funny. We don't admit to our real reasons. We don't admit to what we really want.'”

Mark frowned, still confused by this letter. He wasn't sure if he should stop or if he should finish it. This could be a lot worse than the love advice.

“'You said it best when you said none of us knows what we want. We know what we're expected to do, but there's a difference between expectations and wants. What we want may be so far from those expectations. Maybe we want to give up all the nice clothes and wear something oversized and ridiculous, something comfortable instead of something designer. Maybe we don't want to do college. Maybe we want to watch the whole world burn. Maybe we think that bad boy who got expelled is cute even if we'd never admit that.'”

Mark almost laughed. “Well, one thing I can say for sure is that I wouldn't, but then I wouldn't think they were cute, either. All right, my new lady friend, what else do you have for us tonight?”

“'Westerburg has us walking on eggshells. So many of us have to watch our every move, afraid that if we do one wrong thing we'll lose everything. It could be the cliques that rule the school or the guidance counselor you just know is looking for you to betray yourself or it's the principals and the probations. We're all one step away from falling off the edge, and it terrifies us, but no one sees it. No one but you.'”

Mark shook his head. “You flatter me a bit too much there, friend. Not only are people going to find that hard to believe, but here's the thing: you see it. You see all of it. So I'm not the only one who sees it. And I doubt it's just the two of us. Something is very rotten in the state of Ohio, and we know it. The real problem isn't that we don't see it. It's that we don't see any kind of solution to it.”

Mark looked over the rest of the letter. For all the first part had been perfect, the last part was slanted and scribbled out. “And I'm not sure what you chose to leave out of this letter, but it looks interesting. Shame you didn't leave a number. I'm sure no one will believe you're real.”

He reached over to pick up the lizard. “Here's a thought. Ditch the designer clothes. Don't do the pretty thing. Who cares if everyone thinks you're crazy? Get crazy.”

He thought about adding in a bit about the cock ring, again, but that seemed in poor taste, and while he was rude as Hard Harry, that was the wrong kind of rude.

“We're all looking for answers, and I can't pretend to be the one that has them, but if I get you thinking, if I get people seeing what's out there and what's wrong, then maybe I did something. Maybe I just exposed my own pain and frustration, but that's real. It's what I feel. I hate this town. I hate this school. I hate the way we all seem to be drowning and no one so much as looks at us. The water's up to our necks, but we keep pretending we're wading through it.

“In the end, though, something's gotta give.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday proves to be a very interesting day at school and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This made me happy because I could finally include a few more scenes from Pump Up the Volume.
> 
> Also, I finally got to the part I started this story for, so that's very, very nice.

* * *

“'And so then the Logicars questioned the few remaining Despars more and more. They began to fade away until there was nothing left of them... and they disappeared from the face of the Earth,'” Emerson read, giving the words some dramatic flare that Mark knew wasn't a part of them.

Unfortunately for him, he'd written the damned thing, and while his wasn't the only piece that Emerson had chosen to read today, it was the one she'd gushed on about for no good reason. She'd started class by saying she had some really great assignments turned in, and although she did intend to share them all, she had a few that were particularly special. He hadn't thought much about it until she took out the last on and told everyone to try and picture where they were and how they'd react in the situation as she read it because this was a piece that really made a person think.

And it was his.

“Pretty good, huh?” Emerson asked, smiling as she looked around at the class. “Leading with your heart, not your mind.”

He wasn't sure that was the message behind the story or if it even had one, but Emerson liked to find meaning in the worst of teenage drivel being turned out for a grade. Unlike a lot of the other teachers, she seemed to care.

“Mark,” she began, looking right at him. “I wondered if you'd tell us what you were thinking about when you wrote this.”

He was suddenly aware of everyone in the class staring at him. The girl up front in the dark dress was the worst. She had an intensity to her that made Mark want to die on the spot, and he could feel that usual problem of his getting worse. He swallowed and struggled to find words, fidgeting in his chair.

“I just wrote it late one night...”

“That's obvious,” Emerson said, smiling. “It's practically illegible.”

He knew it was, that was half the reason he'd recognized the paper. It wasn't just that he'd torn them out of his notebook in a hurry. It was that she had struggled at some points to read it.

“I was hoping that you'd share your feelings about it,” Emerson said, and he stared at her. He didn't know what he thought of that thing. He couldn't voice it even if he did. He just wanted to go back to when he was completely invisible and no one saw him at all. Getting noticed around here was trouble, and if he didn't avoid the cafeteria anyway, he had a good idea what would happen to him at lunch.

The bell rang, and Mark let out a breath of relief as he gathered up his books.

“Saved by the bell,” Emerson told him, and he flinched. “Don't think if I didn't read your composition, it won't be read.”

The others made a few noises of discontent as they left.

Emerson caught his arm, handing him back the assignment. “They're looking for new writers at the Clarion. Don't be embarrassed by your talent.”

He forced a smile, taking the pages back and going out into the hall. He saw the girl from earlier at her locker, watching him, and he ducked his head down, walking in the opposite direction. He didn't care that his next class was down that hall. He just wanted to disappear.

* * *

Veronica knew that ditching when it wasn't approved by Heather Chandler was never a good idea, but she needed time to herself, and she knew she wouldn't get it any other way. She wanted to have this in hand before she went home, knowing that as much as she loved having JD as an unofficial guest in her bedroom, it couldn't last much longer.

Her parents would find out eventually, and she couldn't avoid them forever. She knew JD would be out for the day, and that worried her, too. What if his dad found him? What if he went home for something else and it got bad?

She knew he could be lying about things at his house, but she didn't think he was. She hadn't seen any fresh bruises, but she'd seen enough of his body to find old scars. She was sure Big Bud was hurting him. Even just the bitterness in his voice might have told her that, though everyone was mad at their parents these days.

She shook her head, going back into the nonfiction area of the library where no one went unless they were doing a project. She usually spotted someone in the romance section—a few times it was Betty or Martha, and she felt bad for them, knowing what anyone else would have done with that knowledge—and others in the science fiction part, but not so many over here unless they had to do something for school.

Even then, it was cooler to go to the town library for projects or research from encyclopedias in someone's house.

She shook her head, looking for the legal books she knew were here somewhere. She put her finger on one, pulling it out and checking the index. There. Emancipation of a minor. This was what she needed, she hoped. 

She checked her swatch. Hmm. If she checked out the book—which she needed to do anyway, since JD would want to see it for himself, and they'd need to know the steps to take, too, if it was something he could do or try to do.

She took the book up to the desk and set it down. The girl behind the desk gave her a look and crossed over to get a look at the volume.

“Sorry,” she said. “You can't check this out.”

Veronica frowned. “I know I don't have any fines on my account, and if I do, I'll pay them right now. Just tell me how much it is.”

That almost amused the other girl, but she still shook her head. “It's not a matter of fines. It's a reference book. Those can't leave the library.”

Veronica frowned, turning it over and looking for the little sticker that said that. She opened it, turned the pages in the front and the back. “It's not marked as a reference copy.”

“It might not be, but the numbers here says it is,” the other girl said, pointing to the decimal on the side. “Anything above nine-eighty is a reference book and stays in the library. This is nine-ninety-nine.”

Veronica almost swore. “Are you sure? I really need this. It's important.”

“Chill,” the girl advised. “There's still time to use the book here, though it's kind of hard to see what anyone would need a book on family law for a school project. This some kind of home ec thing?”

Veronica shook her head. “No, it's more of a life or death thing.”

“What, one of the Heathers is going to 'kill' you if you don't manage to get this out of the library just to prove you can do it?” the other girl snorted. “Sorry, but no. I may not love this place or think much of all their rules, but I like this gig, and I'm not ruining it for the diet coke heads.”

“It's got nothing to do with the Heathers,” Veronica said. “Actually, at least one of them would be pissed if she knew.”

That made the other girl pause. “Really?”

Veronica nodded. So far her thing with JD was her secret, but as soon as Heather found out, there would be hell to pay. She'd thrown off the high school boys Heather had arranged for her and now the college guys, too, for a guy Heather would hate.

“I'm not falling for that,” the other girl said. “You're a mindless Heather clone. Now go. I've got books to shelve.”

“Look,” Veronica began, not sure what this girl's problem with her was, but she supposed it was enough that she'd joined the Heathers, “you can hate me all you want, but I need to get this book. It's not for me, it's for a friend—and not one of the Heathers.”

“Yeah, well, considering that Betty Finn showed up at my house on Saturday and Martha Dunnstock and I spent yesterday cleaning up a nasty prank at her craft store, I know it's not them, not that she should even think of considering you a decent human being after that cafeteria thing. You're not going to change my mind.”

Veronica winced. She knew she'd abandoned Betty, and she'd been a fool to do it. She was a true friend. The others not so much. Even if she liked Heather McNamara, she knew she couldn't trust her not to say anything to Heather Chandler.

She should just go, forget what this person thought of her, but then... she didn't want to. She didn't think she wanted to be that person anymore, the Veronica Sawyer who'd joined the Heathers. She almost wished she was her boring pre-Heather self.

“What if we're not really how people see us?” Veronica asked, and the girl looked back at her. “If we're just going through the motions, not letting people see how sick of things we are? Or that we're drowning but no one looks at us?”

The other girl folded her arms over her chest. “You expect me to believe you listen to Hard Harry?”

“Just because Heather hates him doesn't mean I do,” Veronica said. “You should have seen her face on Friday at the Remington party. They had him on, and she was livid, especially after he dedicated _All She Wants to Do Is Dance_ to a lady in red and everyone assumed it was her.”

That made the other girl laugh. “You know what? That image is almost worth it, even if it isn't true.”

Veronica frowned, but the other girl took the book and stamped it with a date due marker.

“Thank you,” Veronica said, not sure what else to say or do.

“Nora.”

“Right. Nora. Thank you, Nora. You have no idea how much this means.”

* * *

“Where the hell is Veronica?” Heather Chandler demanded, looking around in frustration. She seemed less composed than usual, which Heather McNamara knew was never a good thing. When Heather got mad or upset, bad things would happen. They always did. “She should have been here with the poll question already.”

“Maybe she's in hiding,” Heather Duke suggested. “You know, since she probably wrote that letter last night.”

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Veronica would never write something like that,” Chandler said, and Duke shrank back, ducking her nose into _Moby Dick_ like it would hide her.

“Because you wrote it, right, Heather?” Courtney asked, and Heather stared at her, fuming and completely caught off-guard, which was unusual for her. “I mean, everyone knows you're the lady in red. And you would say that no one is more popular here than you, so any letter saying it came from the most popular girl in school could only come from one source, right?”

“Please,” Chandler scoffed, recovering her composure some. “I don't even listen to that kind of trash.”

“Then how did you know about the letter?” Courtney asked, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah, Heather,” her friend chimed in, “How did you know?”

That was a good question. Chandler claimed to hate the show, but she knew the letter Duke meant, and so did Heather. She almost wished she had written it, but it wasn't hers. It wasn't Duke's, she didn't think. It sounded more like Veronica than any of the rest of them, and only she openly admitted to Chandler that she listened to the show. Heather never told her friend that she did, and Duke must, too, but she was probably hoping everyone would forget that now.

“David had it on while we were at his place,” Chandler said, standing up straighter and looking more haughty as she did. “He seems to find that juvenile sort of thing amusing.”

“Oh, I'm so sure,” Courtney said. “Is that why you write in on that special red paper of yours?”

Chandler glared at her. “I have never written to that pervert.”

Heather knew they'd all gotten stuff from her in the past on red stationary. Oh, wow. Was that Eat Me, Beat Me lady really Heather Chandler?

“Yeah, sure,” Courtney said. “No one's going to believe that. Maybe you didn't do all he said in dressing down and not trying to be pretty, but you're a mess today, and it shows. Are you going to have a good cry now? Maybe you should give him your number so he can console you.”

“The only number I'd give that creep is yours, Courtney. So he could find out for himself what a misinformed loser you are. Red is my color, and this bitch that stole it to write into that show is going to pay. Come on, Heather. Heather.”

Heather winced as she hurried after her friend. Chandler went right to Ram's table, and while Heather was almost glad to see him again, she knew this wouldn't be good.

* * *

Nora stacked more of the books, still trying to figure out what was with the proto-Heather and that book. She had been so intent on getting that book out of there, and Nora didn't know why. It wasn't like she couldn't have had her parents buy it, found what she needed in the library or gone to the town one when Nora said no. She was surprised, too, that Sawyer had taken as much of that abuse as she had without retaliating, something Nora would have expected from a Heather.

If she had, though, Nora probably wouldn't have been as bold about defying her.

Sawyer had also surprised Nora by knowing and liking Hard Harry. It shouldn't have been such a shock, seeing as she'd been flirting up a storm with that trench coat kid. So Sawyer was a secret rebel. Hard to believe, but interesting all the same.

Nora would have to keep her eye on that one, and not just because she'd sort of stuck her neck out for her in getting her the book.

She shook her head. She didn't need to give more time to the Heathers, any of them, though she wanted to dislike Sawyer for what she'd done to Betty Finn and Martha Dunnstock and had come out actually kind of liking the girl.

Nora didn't know what that said about her, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She pushed that aside as a boy walked up to the desk, passing a book across to her. She looked at him, almost wanting to laugh. She swore he'd tried to avoid her earlier, and now here they were face-to-face.

And what a face. It seemed even more familiar to her than it had this morning when Emerson had embarrassed him reading his piece—the only decent bit of writing in the lot.

“You're in my writing class, right?”

He nodded, seeming to struggle to answer. “Right.”

“Yeah, I like Emerson. She's pretty funky,” Nora said as she turned away to check the book in. She saw the date and grinned, turning back to face him again. “Now you're in trouble.” 

He gaped at her, looking very fearful. 

She tried to fight laughter. “You owe twenty-five cents.”

He seemed relieved, even as he dug into his pockets to come up with the change. She watched him. The checkered shirt wasn't the most flattering thing ever, and he almost seemed to be hiding behind those glasses, but he was cute.

 _“How to Talk Dirty and Influence People_ by Lenny Bruce,” Nora read off as she looked at the book and then back at him. “Who's he?”

The kid in front of her shrugged. Either he hadn't read the book or he didn't actually want to tell her, which was kind of weird, but whatever.

“Any good?”

“He's all right,” the boy said, almost too quiet for her to hear at all.

She smiled again, amused and tempted to laugh. “Talk a lot?”

“Not too much, no,” he answered, still awkward, and left the desk, heading for the door. She watched him for a moment.

She would have to admit the view from the back was nothing too shabby, either. He was something to look at, though that was probably all it was.

Then again, that book. That wasn't something mainstream. She dug out her Clarion, looked at the picture of all the students in the school. She circled his picture, thinking about it. Could that kid actually be Hard Harry?

“Cute, but no way,” she decided, crossing his picture off with a giant x.

* * *

JD took a sip of his slushie and pulled his jacket tighter against him, knowing it was stupid but taking comfort from it anyway. He knew he needed a better way to carry the damned thing, but he still liked knowing that the gun was in there. It was the best place for it for now, since he wasn't so sure he liked the idea of putting a loaded weapon in his pants and he didn't have a holster for it.

He was going to have to make other arrangements for it, knowing as he did that Veronica would hate it, and while he had done as much as he could to make himself forgettable to that guy at the pawn shop when he bought the thing, they'd still look into recent gun purchases if he did go against his father.

He snorted at that. If he did. Like he had much of a choice now. Veronica, innocent as she was, still thought there was another way he could get away from Big Bud, but she was kidding herself. He'd seen CPS and the police do nothing, and not just when he tried to tell people about the abuse. Bud hadn't been as good at hiding it back in the beginning, but they'd ignored him. They'd also decided he was just a hysterical, grief stricken kid when he told them his father had killed his mother. It was an accident, they kept telling him.

He knew better. At best, it was suicide, and when that was the best case scenario, well...

He shook that thought off. His father had gotten away with that and a lot of questionable business practices. Hell, he'd even gotten away with blowing up that tree.

No, this was the only way to stop his father, and it had to happen soon. As soon as JD went home or if Bud managed to spot him, it was all over. The bad beating he'd known was coming after his suspension would be ten times worse because he'd avoided the house, and he couldn't keep it up forever. As Veronica pointed out, he needed to be able to do basic stuff like shower, and even taking a piss in her house was a risk. He would run out of the money he'd taken from his father soon enough, especially after buying the gun.

He would have to do something soon. If he knew how to wreck brake lines, he might do that. Or maybe he could poison his dad's beer. He could just keep the gun as protection, though if anything did happen to Bud... Veronica would understand, wouldn't she? That JD had done what he had to?

He finished the slushie, feeling hollow and as empty as the cup, not sure how to combat his doubts about that. He threw the cup away and went back inside for another.

* * *

Mark was feeling better about his anonymity and invisibility by the time school was over. Aside from the girl in the library when he returned the book, he'd gone unnoticed by everyone else in school, and he figured his ten minutes of fame from Emerson's unintentional humiliation was over.

A part of him had still wanted to skip stopping at the mailbox on his way back home. He had lamented the lack of mail delivery on Sundays yesterday, and he frequently joked about how no one was listening, but he knew he couldn't skip his visit. He told himself even if it was just the poetry of the Eat Me, Beat Me lady, it would be worth it, but he hadn't found one of her signature envelopes in the mix. He walked away feeling more disappointed than he should.

He couldn't talk to a girl to save his life, but he had one sending him the best kind of fantasy material almost daily. He supposed that was a pathetic sort of love life, but he'd take it over his parents and their loveless marriage. They didn't even seem to see how distant they were with each other these days. They loved to talk about him and how unhappy he was, but they didn't see how miserable they were. Sherwood, Ohio was destroying them all.

He sometimes wondered what would happen if his parents heard him on air, if they would recognize him for who he was or not. He also wondered if hearing him would make them realize just how wrong they were about everything.

He started to cut through the convenience store parking lot, knowing it would save him time and a lot of hassle if he avoided the bus stop. It seemed to only exist to attract weirdos and he didn't need to have another near brush with fatal traffic avoiding them.

“There he is,” someone called, and Mark frowned as a convertible swerved to a stop in front of him. Kurt Kelly was driving, and everyone else in the car had a letter jacket. Ram Sweeney stood up and leaned on the window. “I knew it. It's him, all right. He just ditched the jacket.”

Mark frowned. He didn't think it had been cool enough for a jacket since he moved to Sherwood.

“Bet you're not so tough now, huh?” Ram asked, and Mark shook his head as he started to back away. “Lost all your courage with the coat, did ya?”

Mark didn't know what Ram were talking about, but now was a hell of a time for his inability to speak to kick in. He couldn't fix this if he couldn't tell Ram he had it all wrong. What, had the guy gotten concussed when he was in that fight? That was over three days ago, but he still didn't seem to be making any sense.

“He probably thought that he'd hurt us so bad we wouldn't be up again for weeks.”

“What?” Mark heard himself ask. They thought that was him? How the hell could they have that wrong? Were they brain damaged? He was _not_ that kid in the trench coat, and they should know that.

“Oh, look at this,” Ram said, snatching Mark's glasses right off his face as he backed into one of the other jocks, one he didn't know. “Our boy's a closet geek _and_ a fag.”

“No,” Mark said, hating how it came out as a whisper. He'd almost brought his parents down with his rant on what was wrong with Westerburg, but now he couldn't say a word as he was about to be beaten by a bunch of angry jocks?

“Oh, poor baby,” Kurt said. “Are you going to cry now?”

He didn't have a chance to answer. Ram slammed his fist straight into his gut, and Mark struggled to get air as the wind was knocked out of him. He fell, catching himself on his hands and knees, and one of the others kicked him.

“Take that, you trench coat wearing coward,” Ram said. “You like that, huh? We'll show you assholes.”

Mark tried to shield himself from the attack, not even sure where he'd start to fight back with blows coming from everywhere. He didn't think there was a part of him that didn't hurt, and he didn't know how he was going to get up—if he was going to get up.

“Think you're something special. Think you can come in, pretend you're cool, start a fight, and that's the end of it. You don't get to win, Bo Diddley.”

“Actually,” another voice said, sounding almost amused. “I kind of did. Twice. Because you morons can't even find the right kid in a trench coat when he's standing right behind you.”

* * *

JD had never really realized how long a school day was until he was trying to pass the hours post buying a gun to kill his father while waiting for Veronica. The day just seemed to stretch on and on, and he might have had one too many slushies, if that was even a thing.

He didn't know what to do with his time, and it was driving him crazy.

He'd actually done some shopping, which was ridiculous, but then he needed stuff to replenish his first aid kit. His father made it so most of it didn't show, but that wasn't always the case, and more than once, he'd gone through the last of his bandages since he couldn't seem to stop the bleeding. His father would love it if he knew, but JD didn't want to think about that.

He considered fantasizing about putting a bullet in his father's brain the next time the man went for him, but he didn't want to do that in public. He'd probably get so caught up in it he took out the gun and pretended to do it, and that would not be good. That had to stay a surprise until it was time, or everyone would know he was the one that did it.

He'd save that for later. He should get back. Veronica might be home by now, and he wasn't sure if he dared try and meet her folks the usual way, but he probably had to try that first before climbing back into her bedroom.

He'd just headed out, slushie in hand, bandages in pocket, when he heard someone talking about trench coats, and he'd turned to face the same idiots from before, only this time, they weren't trying to attack him.

They were really beating the crap out of some other kid, but somehow they thought _he_ was the one who'd kicked their asses earlier.

Priceless. These ones really were idiots. He'd never seen a stupider bunch, and that was saying something after seven schools.

“Think you're something special. Think you can come in, pretend you're cool, start a fight, and that's the end of it. You don't get to win, Bo Diddley.”

“Actually, I kind of did,” JD told them. “Twice. Because you morons can't even find the right kid in a trench coat when he's standing right behind you.”

They looked back at him. “What?”

“Uh, Kurt,” one of the younger jocks began, “if that's the kid from the cafeteria, who the hell is this?”

Ram dragged the other boy up to his feet, and JD could only frown. Bloody lip and bad fashion sense aside, he was looking at a copy of himself, albeit with shorter, lighter hair. Holy shit. If he didn't know any better, JD would swear he had a twin.

Fuck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Mark deal with the fallout of the fight with Ram and Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, Mark's lizard never had a name in the movie. I gave it one.
> 
> And I meant to have a certain scene from Mark's point of view so he could discuss how he leaves the radio equipment covered in case of his parents' snooping, but I goofed, and there was no way to fit it in here.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Ram demanded, shaking the kid he had in his hold, and JD wasn't sure if the kid was going to puke or pass out. He reached up to try and pull himself free, not making much progress as Ram shoved him toward Kurt. “Who the hell are you?”

The kid in Ram's hold glared at him, and JD had to smile when he flipped Ram off.

“You son of a bitch,” the younger jock snarled, hitting the kid in the stomach again.

JD's hand went to the gun in his pocket. “He's got every right to be pissed, jackass. You idiots picked the wrong one of us to beat on. Now, you're not quite as stupid as I thought because even I see the resemblance, but what the hell, boys? I'm over here.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Kurt demanded. “Did you two plan this?”

JD almost wished they had, but even if he'd known who this guy was or that they looked that much alike, he wouldn't have set him up to be beaten. He wouldn't say he didn't wish that kind of thing on anyone—he did wish it on all of those jocks over there—but he didn't think that he would have wanted his doppelganger to suffer. Not when he'd had enough of it at his father's hands and it felt almost... surreal, like one of those New Age out of body experiences he'd heard about. He was almost watching himself get beaten.

And it was fucked up as hell.

“Answer him, dick. What the hell are we looking at here?”

“I'll tell you what you're looking at,” JD said, taking control of the situation while he could. “Another reason for me to kick your asses. So unless you want a repeat of the cafeteria, you'll get back in your daddy's convertible and get the hell out of here.”

“No,” Ram said. “We've got your little friend here—or is it your boyfriend—”

“That's fucking sick, Ram. They could be twins—”

“So we have the upper hand,” Ram finished. “You answer us, or we'll make you look like him. After we get done with him.”

JD shook his head, taking out the gun. “No, you're going to let him go right now, or I will shoot all of you bullies right in the only head you seem to use.”

“Uh,” one of the younger ones said. “I think you should let him go, Ram.”

“Yeah, Ram, let him go.”

“I'm not letting him go. That thing probably isn't even loaded.”

Not loaded? Like JD would go to all the trouble of getting a gun and not get ammunition for it. No, he had bullets. He'd meant them all for his father, but he didn't think he'd mind shooting any of them. He thought about shooting the tire to prove his point, but then they wouldn't get in the car and leave, which was what he really wanted.

So he shot the mirror instead, and he was pretty sure all the jocks pissed themselves on the spot. He turned the gun back to them, and the younger two took off running, not even bothering to try and get in the car.

“Uh, Ram,” Kurt said. “Let's go. Right now.”

“Uh... yeah...” Ram muttered. He gave the other boy a shove, knocking him to the ground before he went for the car.

JD thought about shooting another part of the car, since he'd already blown things with the gun and everyone knew he had it—so much for people not knowing if he killed his father. He kept the gun on the car until they sped away down the street.

He shook his head, replacing the safety and putting the gun in his pocket. He crossed over to the other kid, who was struggling to get back on his feet. He bent, hooking an arm under the other kid's and helping him up, though he started to struggle again.

“Easy. They're gone.”

The kid looked up at him as if to say that didn't make a damned bit of difference, and JD thought about dropping him. Some gratitude, but then... maybe the gun scared this one, too.

“You're bleeding,” JD told him. “Better do something about that.”

* * *

Mark didn't know what to do as the Trench Coat Kid dragged him inside the convenience store. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with the reason he'd been beaten who was clearly insane and had a gun. It wasn't that he wasn't glad that the others were gone, that he'd stopped them from hurting Mark more, but he didn't know what to think about the gun or how he'd shot that car. He was almost sure this guy would have gone through with shooting one of those jocks if they hadn't run.

Still, he didn't think he could have moved on his own, and he was bleeding, too.

“Key,” Trench Coat Kid called to the clerk, who shoved the big plastic keyring at him, looking frightened even though the gun had been put away.

Trench Coat Kid walked him back to the restroom, pushing the door open. He dropped Mark on the toilet seat, and he grabbed the handicapped rail to keep himself from falling off.

“You gonna puke?”

Mark wasn't sure. Maybe. If the blood kept going from his nose to his mouth, yes, probably. Not that his lip wasn't bleeding, too, but the nose was worse, and he didn't even remember when that happened.

“Lean your head back. It'll slow that down,” the kid advised. He tore off a bit of toilet paper and handed it to him. “Use that if you want.”

Mark held it in his hand, not sure he dared to move his arm. 

“You having any trouble breathing? Does that hurt? I don't hear you wheezing, but that doesn't mean much.”

Mark shook his head. His chest hurt, but he seemed to be breathing fine.

“Good. Then you're probably not dealing with any broken or cracked ribs. Trust me, those are a pain in the ass.”

Mark stared at him, but the kid didn't seem to notice. He did a silent count off in his head, like he was marking items off some imaginary list. Blood dropped onto Mark's lip, and he gagged, trying to put the paper up to stop the bleeding. Lifting his arm made the pain flare up so bad he saw spots, and he let out an involuntary curse. That hurt like hell.

“Better get a look at that, then.”

Mark wanted to ask him hundreds of questions, but when he tried, nothing came out. The kid reached for the buttons on his shirt, and he jerked back, hitting the toilet and making everything hurt again. He wanted to whimper, but he bit it back, refusing to embarrass himself further.

“I'm not here to do the 'bad touch' thing, okay? I just know it'll be a hell of a lot less painful if you let me unbutton it instead of trying to lift it over your head.”

Mark couldn't argue with that, so he didn't fight him the second time. The other boy pushed the shirt open after he was done and winced.

“Shit. You're going to want to watch this one. That's already looking bad, and for it to look that bad already... Might be internal bleeding.” He turned, studying a mark on the other side. “This isn't so bad, more of a scrape, that's why it looks all irritated. It'll sting like hell, but should be fine. I didn't see if they got you any lower.”

The idea of dropping his pants in front of this guy, even if he was doing what seemed like first aid, was horrifying, and Mark shook his head. He might have a few bruises down there, but not enough to worry him to where he'd do that.

The kid took some paper towel and wet it down, touching it to the scrape on Mark's side. He hissed, and the kid ignored him, lifting the towel up and frowning at the red on it. He threw the garbage away and reached into his pocket.

Mark tensed, but what came out was a roll of gauze, and the kid tore off a piece of it. He followed that with a roll of medical tape from the same pocket, taping it over the scrape.

Who the hell was this kid?

“Why?”

“They're assholes.”

“Not them. You.”

That had Trench Coat Kid stopping. “You mean, why'd I get in a fight with them in the first place? Same answer as above.”

“Not that,” Mark swallowed, still feeling a bit nauseous. “Why...?”

“Why'd they come after me again? I made fools of them when I won, and from what I've heard, I'm famous because the local dj took my side and called them and the whole school on their crap.”

Mark had done that, since he thought it was crap this kid got suspended when nothing happened to Kurt or Ram, but would he have done it if he knew they'd mistake him for trench coat kid and beat the hell out of him?

That still wasn't what he wanted to ask about. His body was aching, and he could barely think, and his inability to speak was not making this easy.

“Why?”

“What, like I should just be glad you took the beating for me and walk away?” the other kid snorted. “I was the one that mouthed off to them in the first place, the one they wanted, and it's just dumb luck we look enough alike where you got the ass kicking meant for me.”

Mark wasn't sure he would have drawn attention to himself if he'd been in the opposite position, but he would have wanted to do something about the fight either way, so maybe.

He sighed, forcing himself to change the question this time. “How?”

“This?” the kid asked, holding up the bandage. “Learned a few things over the years. Not enough to help you if that one is more than just a bruise, but the rest of 'em will be fine, just sore as hell. It'll be worse before it's better.”

Mark knew that much. He swallowed and managed to find his voice again. “You're the asshole. You know what I mean.”

“Oh,” the kid said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He took a drag before gesturing to his face. “You mean this?”

“Yes.”

“No fucking clue.”

* * *

Though it would have been a bit awkward to have JD pick her up after school, Veronica was still disappointed when she ended up walking home that day. She'd used every spare second she had to pour through the family law book, needing to find out every detail on emancipation and what JD would need to do for that to happen. If they could get him legally free of his father, he never had to go home again. She had to find that, since she was scared that if he did go home when his father was there, she'd never see him again.

She knew his father hurt him, but he'd gotten away with it, and it would keep happening if he went home again. She also worried because he said they moved a lot, and what if Bud just moved JD away because of this? He could do whatever he wanted if he did, couldn't he?

She started reading and stopped in horrified disbelief.

She'd been so sure this was the answer, but this said there was no legal process to petition for emancipation in Ohio. Minors could be granted emancipation on a case by case basis, but if they couldn't petition for it, how did that case even get heard?

How would JD get away from his father if no one believed there was abuse?

She swallowed, reading further. There had to be some way of making this work, of getting it to the attention of the court.

* * *

“I want to go home,” Mark said after too long of the awkward silence. Neither of them could explain the resemblance—as far as he knew, his parents only managed one kid, him, and he didn't think Trench Coat Kid had any siblings, either, though he hadn't said. He just said he didn't know.

And that was weird and uncomfortable and Mark hurt like hell.

“You sure about that?”

Mark managed another nod. He knew he'd been warned about internal bleeding, but he didn't want to go to the hospital. That would just mean a lot of questions he didn't want to answer—couldn't answer, because how the hell did he explain this guy? And like his parents wouldn't flip over all this. They'd be pissed at the guy for getting Mark in trouble, and they'd want more than a suspension for him, especially if the story got out about the gun.

And they'd lecture Mark for fighting even if he hadn't started it and didn't do much in the middle of it, either.

“I just want to go home,” Mark said, though the cigarette was tempting, too, since Trench Coat Kid had chained them since he finished dressing Mark's wounds.

“You got anyone you can call to come get you?” Trench Coat asked, and Mark shook his head. He wouldn't call his parents, and he didn't know anyone else here. “Damn. You look like you're going to fall over if you try to move.”

Mark felt like he would, too. He stood, trying to make sure he stayed upright, and he managed it until he tried to take a step. Trench Coat Kid caught him, and he grimaced.

“Fuck it,” Trench Coat Kid said, putting Mark's arm around his neck and supporting him. “Let's get you out of here.”

Mark nodded. He wanted to lie down and sleep for days. Everything hurt so much, too much. He couldn't get home on his own, so maybe he would have to go to the hospital. He couldn't do that. If he was in the hospital, they might keep him overnight. That meant no broadcast. While he was mostly anonymous, if he didn't go on and word got out that Mark Hunter was in the hospital, people would know he was Hard Harry.

If nothing else, this kid would know.

“You think you can manage to stay on a bike?”

“What?”

Trench Coat Kid put the key back on the counter, giving the clerk a mocking salute. The guy started bitching about him smoking inside, even muttering something about fags, but he ignored it and led them outside. Then Mark saw it. A motorcycle. This was a joke, right?

“That's my ride.”

“You're insane.”

“You want to stay here?”

Mark shook his head. No, he didn't. He couldn't. He shouldn't have said anything. He wasn't thinking clearly, and he normally wouldn't have said anything, too scared, but his mouth was true to form working at the worst of times.

“Don't fall off.”

Mark gave him the finger, too tired to do much else.

* * *

“I see you know Cookie Cutter hell, too,” JD observed, parking the bike in front of the house that the other boy had specified. He had been afraid a few times that the kid would slide off despite his death grip on JD's coat, but they'd managed to get here in one piece.

More or less.

The other boy got off the bike shakily, holding onto it and wincing. JD figured they needed to get another look at that bruise. If it was any worse, he'd have to get the guy to a hospital, no matter what he seemed to think.

“You going to make it inside?” JD asked, and the kid nodded, taking a few steps before he got light-headed or something and almost fell. JD went after him, catching him and walking him toward the sliding glass doors.

Opening it up, he helped the kid over to the ugly couch. He sat down with a moan, closing his eyes. JD shook his head. People said he was stubborn, but this one might be even more stubborn than he was. He pushed the shirt open again, checking the bruise. It seemed about the same, but that could still be bad.

“Your parents here?”

The other kid shook his head. “No.”

“How long?”

That got him a look. “Why?”

“Because you could pass out and die before they get home, and I don't want your neighbors claiming the kid in the trench coat on the bike was the one behind that.”

“They don't know who you are. I don't know who you are.”

JD hadn't introduced himself. Neither had the other boy. He wasn't sure why. They just hadn't.

“You got a phone?”

The kid lifted a hand and pointed to the messy desk behind JD. It was cluttered with a bunch of cassette tapes and papers—this must be where he did his homework—but then JD came face-to-face with a damned lizard and almost jumped back.

“What the hell?”

“Harry.” The other kid hissed a bit in pain, shifting on the couch behind JD. “The phone, he's probably sitting on it.”

JD made a face and backed away from the desk. He didn't see the appeal of reptiles. Maybe because his father was a snake. Maybe because he just liked hamsters. “You named your lizard Harry?”

“Long story.”

“I bet.”

“I'll be fine. You don't have to stay.”

JD found that a little hard to believe. “How you figure on explaining any of this to your parents? They take one look at you, and they'll know you were in a fight. That nose is ugly, your lip's cut up, and you might even have a bit of a black eye.”

“I'll blame it all on the kid in the trench coat.”

“Cute.”

The other kid laughed and then seemed to regret it. “It is your fault. Except... it isn't. It's those jerks' fault. Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly.”

“More like idiots. We might look a lot alike, but there's still plenty of differences. Starting with these,” JD said, taking the broken glasses out of his pocket and setting them on the desk. “You blind without those or what?”

“No. Not blind. Just... far-sighted.”

JD nodded. He knew he'd failed some vision tests as a child, but they'd never made him have glasses, not that Bud would have let him keep them. He'd have hated having a son so weak as to need glasses, even if he liked keeping JD weak and at his mercy by beating the hell out of him most days.

His doppelganger had things a hell of a lot better than he did.

He found himself curious about the whole house, wanting to see what it was like. This room had plenty of space, and it looked like it was all the boy's, though some of the records might have belonged to his dad, since they didn't look like the usual teenage fare.

“Mark?” a woman's voice called, knocking on the door. Must have been this kid—Mark's—mother. “You in there?”

“What?” The kid asked, sounding hostile, probably because of the pain.

“I brought dinner home with me tonight. Wash up and meet us upstairs in five minutes.”

“Not hungry.”

“Don't be stubborn. You haven't been home long enough to snack on anything, and the school told your father you're not using the money on your account.”

JD frowned. Someone must really be watching that lunch money.

“I'm fine. I'm not hungry.”

“Come up anyway. Your father wants to discuss this lunch business.”

Mark leaned back against the couch with a groan. “Damn it. Why does the school have to tattle everything I do to him? Just because he's the commissioner doesn't mean they need to tell him every time I take a piss. Jesus.”

This kid's father was the school commissioner? Damn, that sucked. Not as much as Big Bud, but it sure didn't sound fun.

“Must be nice having the whole school narc on you.”

“Yeah, as if I'm not a big enough loser without my dad sticking his damned nose in it.” Mark tried to sit up and swore, doubling over in pain. “Fuck.”

Funny how the kid had a lot more of a voice now that he was home. JD looked at him and then at the door, taking out a cigarette as the idea came to him. “Your parents object to hats in the house?”

“What?”

He lit the cigarette, taking a drag before answering. “Just thinking here, but say I sat in on dinner with your parents. You might get a few more lectures on how sullen and withdrawn you are, but you wouldn't have them knowing anyone kicked the crap out of you. You know, unless you do end up in the hospital, but then you could always use the name Jason Dean and no one will give a fuck what happens to you.”

“That your name?”

“JD,” he corrected, not wanting this kid to go around calling him Jason. “Limited time offer. Take it or leave it.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

The last thing JD wanted to admit was that he was looking forward to eating a real meal for a change. “I need a place to store a hamster for a few days.”

“What?”

“Had a fight with my dad. He wants it gone. You've got all this space to yourself. You let me store the hamster here, I'll not only cover for you at dinner, I'll help you cover it up in the morning to get through class. Assuming you don't have to check into the hospital in my name, that is.”

Mark thought it over for a bit. “Deal.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD stands in for Mark at dinner, and Mark realizes something about him, using his show to address that instead of his usual fare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was saving the song I ended up using for this part for one of the movie plot related parts, but nothing fit half so well, and the other one I almost did was a bit more obviously JD, which would be fine if I was doing a song fic and not something like this.
> 
> I also borrowed part of Mark's end speech for this, too.

* * *

“I thought you weren't hungry,” the woman observed as JD took his plate to the table. He barely remembered eating like this before—in a kitchen, everyone sitting down like a television family. He must have been in elementary school the last time it happened. Back then, Big Bud's company hadn't been nationwide but local, and they hadn't moved around all the time.

“No, I just didn't want company,” JD muttered, taking his seat. “But since the lecture is coming, lay it on me and let's get it over with.”

“Watch your attitude, young man,” the father wanted. JD wanted to laugh. Like that was at all intimidating after Big Bud. Nothing much scared JD anymore, not after the beatings he'd taken and the other ways his father hurt him. Death would almost be a relief.

And Mark didn't have to worry about his parents. JD's gun was downstairs with his jacket. He'd changed to make himself look like Mark. The shirt wasn't that bad—JD had a few like this one himself—but the hat sucked. He could live with it, since there was no time to dye his hair, and he wasn't about to bleach it, either, which was probably about the only way his hair would take the lighter tones of Mark's.

JD took a bite of his food. He wasn't sure that this was the smartest thing he'd ever done, but what the hell? Mark could buy himself a bit of recovery time, assuming that bruise wasn't internal bleeding, and he got to eat something that wasn't a turbo dog for once.

“I hope you don't think that imitating that kid who got in a fight was a good idea,” Mark's father went on. “If that is where this attitude is—”

“Seriously? One fight with a couple of airhead jocks and suddenly one kid is to blame for all the evils in the world?” JD demanded. “Do you even know what that kid has gone through? Maybe his dad beats on him every day and he was just trying to avoid getting hit again. Maybe he was just eating his food in peace and some jocks decided to pick a fight, but it's still his fault. He wasn't even at school today, but sure, go ahead and blame him because what the hell? It's never the jerks in the letter jackets.”

“Mark—”

“If you try and tell me one more time that the kid in the trench coat is to blame, you can eat by yourselves and to hell with your lunch money,” JD said, rising. He hated to waste the meal, but he was not going to sit here and listen to these idiots tell him Ram and Kurt were saints. Would they still think that if they'd seen them go after their own kid for no reason at all? Well, the resemblance, but Mark wasn't to blame for that. JD wasn't, either. Neither of them had known about it until today.

Though... could Mark's parents have known? How the hell did they look this much alike, anyway? If they were twins... one or both of them was adopted or something.

Damn.

“We are not saying that,” Mark's mother said, giving his father a pointed look. “We're just worried about you. You've been so unhappy here, and if you're not eating... giving us this much attitude... I'm sorry, sweetheart, but this isn't like you.”

JD sat back down. “I hate it here. I don't think I've made any secret of that.”

“No, you haven't,” Mark's mother said, “but we were hoping things would get better, that you'd start making friends. Things only seem to be getting worse, and when we heard you weren't using the money we gave you for lunch—”

“It's not the end of the world, okay? I'm not secretly starving myself to death. It just so happens that Westerburg's food tastes like shit. You can buy better stuff at a convenience store. You really want to solve a problem, start with the cafeteria. Maybe if the jocks actually ate their food, they wouldn't pick fights. Who knows?”

Mark's father actually smiled. “I'll keep that in mind. But Mark?”

“What?”

“Watch your language. Next time you use that word at the dinner table, you'll be grounded for a month.”

JD nodded, trying not to laugh. What kind of a threat was that? He forced himself to continue eating and not comment on it. So far, he'd done all right with the meal, but if he wasn't careful, he really would blow it and get Mark in a lot of trouble. He'd already come close to it.

And he _was_ hungry.

* * *

Mark jerked awake, blinking in confusion as he saw himself up above him. What the hell kind of dream was this? He'd never seen anything like this before. He'd had strange dreams and scary dreams, but nothing like seeing himself up above his head, leaning over him. He wanted to wake up now.

“There you are. I was thinking you weren't going to wake up there for a second.”

Mark frowned. It came back to him then. JD. The Trench Coat Kid. He'd come to Mark's rescue after Kurt and Ram jumped him. And Mark had even agreed to let him take dinner with his parents. He must be insane.

He was in too much pain to think straight.

“Let me look at that wound again,” JD said, taking off the hat. “By the way, you told your father that cafeteria lunch is inedible and you're on thin ice where your attitude is concerned, but other than that, dinner went well.”

“Really?”

JD shrugged. “I kind of got pissed off at being blamed for all the evils in the world and told them both off for not once thinking it could have been the jocks, and that could have been bad, but your mom made us all calm down and do the friendly act so we got through dinner in one piece. They did, incidentally, think you were kind of suicidal for the crime of not eating lunch, but you'll be okay. Assuming you're not dying now, that is.”

Mark forced himself to sit up. “I just dozed off for a bit. I'm fine.”

“Sure, and if you slip into a coma and die, everyone will blame me. Again.”

Mark shook his head. He was sure that was just a nap. “I'm going to be black and blue tomorrow, but they didn't hit me that hard. I'll be fine. You can go. Thank you for stalling my parents for a bit. Maybe tomorrow will be easier.”

JD snorted. “Exactly how many fights have you been in, Marky boy? Bruises always look worse the next day. And you're going to have one hell of a shiner.”

Mark almost swore. He needed to be better tomorrow. He needed to be better tonight, in a few minutes. He had a broadcast to put on, needing to be Hard Harry so no one realized why he wasn't on air. He hurt too much to stay on for long, but he had to do something. If he didn't, Ram, Kurt, and the rest of those jocks, plus JD here, would know that he was Hard Harry.

And since those guys hated him, too, Mark would end up beaten all over again. Assuming JD was telling the truth about that. Mark studied the other kid. Would JD lie about that? It wasn't like Mark thought Hard Harry's opinions were a secret, but he always found himself doubting just how many listeners he actually had.

“Look, my girlfriend is probably close to freaking out right now,” JD said, starting to fidget a little. “I was going to meet her after school.”

Mark stared at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

JD got angry fast. “That so damned hard to believe?”

Mark couldn't judge him based on his own experience. He couldn't talk to anyone, so it wasn't surprising that he didn't have friends or a girlfriend. JD had that rebel thing going for him. He could probably have gotten plenty of girls with that, even if he was new. Mark would probably be single for life, given his inability to talk unless he was behind a radio mic, but that didn't mean it was the same for anyone else.

“No. I just... I wasn't thinking. It's hard to concentrate.”

JD relented. “If you're really sure that you won't die, I'll go. Just... don't die overnight, okay?”

Mark looked at his side again. The bruise did look uglier than before, but then the rest of him was starting to show marks of his run-in with Ram and Kurt. “I'm fine.”

“You're still going to take in the hamster, right?”

That had Mark frowning all over again. He looked up at JD. “What?”

“Slushie. My hamster,” the other kid said, and Mark knew he had to be gaping at him because the word hamster did not seem to make sense coming from JD's mouth, even if Mark had already agreed to take it in when he was about to pass out. “If I don't get him out of my dad's place, he'll kill him. That's not a joke.”

“Uh...”

“Please,” JD said, and Mark got the sense that wasn't a word he used often, if ever. He probably didn't want to appear weak or something like that, but he did seem to be genuine now.

“Oh, God,” Mark said as it hit him. “All that stuff you told me about the bruises. The bit about the ribs and the internal bleeding. Carrying bandages in your pockets. Your dad is abusive, isn't he?”

“You don't know anything about me,” JD snapped. He snatched his coat up from the floor and left through the door. Mark was sure if he could have slammed it, he would have. Instead, he just left it open, not looking back.

Mark sat back on the couch, trying to think. His twin, or whatever the hell JD was, was being abused by his father. And the jerks at school.

And he had a gun.

Damn. This was going to be bad.

Wait. There was one possible solution, one way Mark might help. If JD knew about Hard Harry taking sides over the cafeteria fight, he might have been listening. Or the girlfriend was. Maybe he could still reach JD.

He forced himself up and over to his chair at the desk, unburying the equipment. He kept the radio hidden during the day in case his parents decided to snoop, and it was a damned good thing he did, or JD would already have seen it.

He checked the clock. Not quite ten. He just had to hold on for a bit. He could do this.

* * *

“Where the hell have you been?” Veronica demanded when JD poked his head in her window. She almost ran over to help him in, but she felt like she couldn't move. “I have been worried sick. I thought your dad got you. I thought you'd died. I was sure I'd never see you again.”

She really had. She'd kept herself distracted by her reading in the law book for a while, but as the hours dragged on after school and she didn't see him, she became more and more convinced that something had gone wrong. He must have gone home or his dad had tracked him to the convenience store or something. Whatever it was, she'd been sure it was bad and she'd find out he was hurt.

Or dead.

“I'm all right,” JD said, coming the rest of the way inside. “I didn't see my dad today. It's fine.”

That was not enough. He couldn't just disappear for hours like that, not when he had told her he had nowhere else to go and had her believing the worst of his father. “What happened? Where have you been?”

He took a breath and let it out. She didn't think he wanted to tell her, but she was not about to allow him to get away without telling her the truth. “Kurt and Ram were harassing another kid at the convenience store. I stopped them, but he was in pretty bad shape.”

God, why couldn't they just stop? What was wrong with them? Couldn't they understand how wrong they were? “How bad? Is he in the hospital?”

“Probably should be, but he refused to go,” JD said, shaking his head. “I took him home and stayed with him for a bit. I think he'll be okay.”

She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight. She didn't know what she would have done if he'd been the one that got hurt. “I'm so glad you're here.”

He combed back her hair from her face, leaning in like he might kiss her. “So am I.”

“Stay with me?”

“Forever, if I can.”

She smiled, but she wasn't relieved. “I was looking into emancipation for you. The problem is... you can't petition for it here in Ohio. They can grant it on a case by case basis, but you'd have to get it in front of them another way. All of those cases seem to have been brought by CPS—”

“That won't help me. They never believe me. Dad's too good at hiding it. And he charms them or pays them off. It won't work.”

“So we need another way,” Veronica said. She still hadn't thought of a good one, since most of the other reasons she could see JD ending up in court were bad, the kind that landed him in juvenile hall or worse. “And you need a job.”

“What?” JD asked, stepping back from her.

“Everything on emancipation says you have to have a means of supporting yourself if you do get separated from your parents. You have to show you can provide for yourself and that there's a good reason for you to be free of their guardianship, not just because you dislike their rules. Which means... again, proving your dad's abusive.”

JD shook his head. “I told you. I can't. He found ways of hurting me where it doesn't show a long time ago. And if he did do it where he left marks...”

“You'd be dead.”

JD didn't answer her, but that was answer enough in her opinion. She went back to his side, hugging him again.

“I won't lose you,” she told him. “I swear I won't. We'll find you a job and a way to get clear of him. I swear we will. You said—does he ever do business in a way that... that isn't legal? Could we prove that?”

“I'm sure he does, but proving it? Probably not.” JD touched her cheek. “Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to forget for a bit.”

She nodded, pulling off her shirt. She would be fine just holding onto him for the rest of the night, but that wasn't forgetting. This would end up in the same thing, but it would distract him for a while, and they could both use it.

“Veronica, you don't have to—”

“I want to,” she said, pulling him in for a kiss. “Remember, you said forever.”

“I did.”

* * *

Nora reached over to turn on her radio. She had been waiting for this all night, though she'd enjoyed her own reading of the Lenny Bruce book. It seemed so unlike the kid she'd met earlier, the cute one who couldn't talk, to be reading about the exploits of a comic best known for his use of obscenities in his act.

It almost had her reconsidering her position on him being Hard Harry, especially after noting that the book had been published by _Playboy._ That seemed fitting, didn't it?

She listened to _Everybody Knows,_ thinking it a bit strange that he let the whole song play tonight. He didn't always do that. He changed it up a lot, and for the last few nights, he'd cut it off after the first chorus, just basically using it to let everyone know he was on the air.

“Once again, it is ten o'clock, and the clueless parents of the world have already gone to bed, tucking themselves in with contentment, feeling that they finally reached their wayward progeny. If they only knew... I think I'd have liked to have been there for that one. Must have been priceless.”

Nora frowned. That didn't exactly make sense.

“Parents. What do you do with them, huh? I mean, think about it. They birth us, rather against our will. They bring us into this shitty world, and they raise us, and then, just when it's time to turn the keys over, to let us actually go out into the world as the people they've told us to be, they yank those cords back so hard and tell us we're still children. We can't think for ourselves. We don't know what we—fuck. Uhh... hmm... Damn.”

Nora found herself frowning again. That was weird. Very weird.

“Sorry. Apparently someone is up to his old tricks and instead of focusing on the rant I wanted to have, it seems that same part of my anatomy wants a bit of attention right now,” he said, and she shook her head. It figured it was that. “Excuse me for a minute, folks. Gotta tame the beast.”

She shook her head, wondering when he got shy about that, but she couldn't dislike his choice of music. She liked this song, and it was fitting for what he was doing. _Love Comes in Spurts_ always reminded her of him now, and it made her smile.

“All right,” Harry said after the song ended. “Where were we? Oh, yeah, parents. Parents think we don't know what we need, that we're incapable of deciding that for ourselves. Except... that's what we're supposed to be learning to do. Not to long from now, we'll be let loose upon the world, and we won't know what to do with ourselves because no one lets us make our own choices.”

She sighed. “Tell me about it.”

If it were up to her, she wouldn't be here. She would have left Sherwood, Ohio behind her and found someplace, any place, better.

“Of course, parents can go too far, too. I got a letter here. No return address. No phone number. Not much I can do about it except read it,” Harry paused, then let out a sigh. “I don't like this. I wish there was some way of actually talking to this kid, but since I can't...”

“Read the letter already,” Nora said, now curious and needing to know what it said and why it seemed to bother him so much.

“'Dear Harry. Maybe school isn't the problem. Maybe those bullies pushing people around aren't half as frightening as the monsters that live at home.'”

“Oh, hell,” Nora said, biting her lip.

“'My father is waiting when I get there, and it doesn't matter if I do my homework or if I made good grades. It doesn't matter if I got along with the kids at school or if I had to try and avoid the bullies so they wouldn't hurt me more than he does. Nothing I do makes him stop. Nothing I say makes him stop. He hurts me, and I can't stop him. The teachers don't give a damn about me. The guidance counselor is a joke. My dad just keeps on getting away with it. He'll probably kill me one day, like he killed my pet. I'm tired of bandaging my own wounds, knowing that even if I did go to the hospital, they'd just send me home and he'd do worse to me.'”

Nora closed her eyes with a wince. She wanted this letter to be fake. Some of them were, and this one should be. No one should be going through that.

“'I know there's nothing I can do,'” Harry finished. “'Signed, Damaged.'”

Nora shook her head. That was so wrong. She wanted to know who this guy was—she thought it was a guy, but who knew? Harry, maybe, because he had the handwriting to go by, but maybe that wasn't enough.

“Look, Damaged,” Harry began, “I know that it seems hopeless. I'm reading that and I feel hopeless. I feel—ow, fuck. That's right. I feel pain. It hurts. Reading this, knowing that's happening, it hurts. It should hurt. This shouldn't happen to anyone. I'd say, 'fuck it, come here. My parents might be clueless idiots, but at least they don't knock me around.' Only I don't know you, and I can't offer you that. I can't help with anything but words, and what the hell good are they?”

Nora didn't know. She felt completely helpless, too. It would be sick if this one wasn't real, if someone had made that up and sent it in just to screw with Harry, but if it was real, then this kid needed help, bad, and she wished she could give it to him.

“Here's what we all have to remember,” Harry said. “This is all temporary. Being a teenager sucks. Surviving it is the whole point. So while I can't call you, I can't reach you, I can only hope that you will will survive it, like the rest of us are trying to survive it. We're all in need of help, some of us more than others, but we're all there. You're not alone. There's someone like you who can help, even if all they do is listen.”

Nora nodded, though again she wanted to do a lot more than listen.

“And I don't know about you folks, but that kind of... did it for me.”

“What? No,” Nora protested, looking at the clock and shaking her head. It was too soon. Way too soon. She didn't want him to go yet.

“I'm not that smart or that witty, and I might talk a bit about life and everything that's wrong, but in the end, I'm just a voice on a radio that can't do shit,” Harry said. “This one's for you, though, my friend Damaged.”

_“When your day is long and the night, the night is yours alone. When you're sure you've had enough of this life. Well, hang on. Don't let yourself go...”_

Nora swore, wiping at her cheeks. Damn Harry. He talked so much crap, and he made her laugh, sometimes made her angry, either with what he said or the injustices he pointed out, but this was different. That was the first time he'd ever made her cry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's broadcast about an abused kid stirs up plenty of emotions and possible trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, and this isn't an always thing, but sometimes my stories seem to get it in their head they've been too dark for a bit and want to swing to the other side and be light. Or vice versa, and it kind of feels like this one did. After the last chapter, this is a lot lighter and maybe funnier.
> 
> With one exception of Ram and Kurt being bigots again and some ethnic slurs.

* * *

JD laid awake through the night. Veronica slept in his arms, but her presence was no comfort, much as he wanted it to be. He couldn't shut off his brain, couldn't stop thinking about that letter Hard Harry had read. He almost regretted letting Veronica turn on the radio after they'd had sex, since that letter was so damned unsettling.

It was weird, like Harry was talking directly to him, even if he knew he hadn't written the damned thing. He wouldn't have used the word stop so much, and he hadn't had a pet killed by the bastard, not yet, but a lot of it was as familiar to him as breathing.

He knew it upset Veronica, too, because she'd held on tight until she fell asleep.

He wondered if people would want to know who that letter writer was, if that kid's case would get to court where he could get emancipated or just get yanked out of his hell by CPS. 'Course he knew that there were other possible hells out there, and his father had tried to scare him with them, but since his father did pretty much all of those things that he'd have to fear somewhere else, JD still figured he'd be better off if he got out.

Better still if his father died.

Only now that people knew that he had a gun, he couldn't shoot his dad. So maybe he had to do the emancipation thing. Hell, if JD wasn't a burden to his father and had a job, the bastard wouldn't care if he never came home, right?

And there was Mark to consider. JD didn't know why they looked alike, though he was really starting to wonder about the adoption thing. He hadn't ever really seen much resemblance between him and his own parents, and from what he'd seen of Mark's, there wasn't much there, either.

He didn't know. It was possible they weren't related at all, though he wanted to get a look at someone's records, and he figured that would be easier to do with Mark's, since his parents actually lived in their house. He could do it after he brought Slushie over, assuming Mark had made it through the night.

He slipped out from under Veronica and went across to her dressing table. He flipped through the cosmetics on the desk, looking for the stuff he needed.

“Should I be worried?” Veronica asked from the bed. “I know you do dark and scary, but you don't actually do makeup, too, do you?”

He looked back at her. “What, you don't think this beauty is all natural, do you?”

She giggled, pulling her pillow close to muffle the sound. “I know it is, jackass.”

“Your is, too, you know. You don't need any of this crap.”

“So you're going to steal it?”

“Damn right,” he said, since he didn't feel like explaining to her why he really wanted it. He put the containers in his pocket as she frowned. “I should get going. Your parents will be up soon to wake you, and I can't be here when they do.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“You worried?”

“Yes.”

He forced a smile, not sure he was up to joking about his situation, and he still didn't want to tell her about Mark and how alike they were since he couldn't explain it. “I think I'll look for a job today. Still suspended for another two days, so that gives me time.”

She nodded. “Okay. Be careful.”

* * *

The sliding doors opened, and Mark forced himself up, frowning as he did. His parents almost never came and went that way, only he did, but he couldn't remember if he'd covered the radio up last night after he finished the message. He had been hurting pretty bad, and he'd almost lost it more than once during the broadcast.

He looked over to see most of it covered again, feeling relieved for a moment before staring at the cage that was now just inside his door.

“You came back.”

“I told you I had to have a place for him,” JD said, stepping inside the door. “He's just lucky he hides pretty good.”

Mark grimaced. “Your dad trash your room?”

“And then some,” the other boy answered. Then he winced, like he hadn't meant to agree to that. He fidgeted for a moment, looking Mark over and then eying the hamster. He looked like he was about ready to bolt again.

Mark tried to rise, and his whole body protested. He was so sore he didn't know how he'd cross the room. There was almost no way he was walking to school. “Damn it.”

“Look, no shame in staying home after a good ass kicking. Some of those jerks will go after you again if you get back up right away. You're probably better off not going.”

Mark didn't disagree, but there was still a problem with that. “How am I supposed to explain that to my parents? They still don't know about this, and if I don't show up to school, my dad will get a call. Telling them I'm sick means an exam from my mother who doubles as a school nurse.”

“Might be a good idea.”

Mark shook his head. That would just make things so much worse. “For one, you would never be allowed within fifty feet of this place. They'd take this blaming thing too far and try and have you arrested or something because even if I didn't tell them I got beat up because we look alike, you're the root of all evil because you fought those jocks. Second, that would mean involving your dad in some way, which I assume is the last thing either of us wants. Third, your hamster would get banned because it's guilty by association. And fourth... I refuse to be put under house arrest for something that is not my fault. School sucks, but sitting around here all day isn't any better.”

“I can probably help with that, but it's going to take another favor,” JD said, and Mark tensed, almost certain he wouldn't like this. JD reached into his pocket and pulled out two containers of makeup. “Borrowed this from my girlfriend. Could have tried raiding your mom's stuff, but I wasn't sure how long it would take her to leave, and that would be something else that they might notice. I know my mom did with a bottle of her stuff I knocked over in the sink once.”

“You going to get pissed if I ask where your mom is now?”

“Dead.”

Mark winced. “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever. It's not important. What is right now is that my asshole of a father did, as you suspect, trash my room. He did more than that. He wrecked almost all of my clothes besides what I had on my back. I took a few things the other day, but I've got nowhere to keep them, so I didn't grab much.” JD shook his head. “I figured he'd be pissed, and he was. He's just never done that before, so I didn't expect it.”

Mark forced himself up again, this time staying on his feet. “We are basically the same size, so you can borrow something of mine.”

“Your parents going to leave soon?” 

“My dad's probably already gone, but my mom leaves about the same time as I do,” Mark answered. “Why?”

“Thought I might borrow the shower, too,” JD said. “Unless that's a problem for you?”

Mark wanted to say it was, but he'd rather that JD felt he could use some stuff here rather than try and take that gun to his father. “No. It's fine. All of my stuff is in the one down here, so they won't know if you use it.”

He stopped at the doorway to his room—more like his closet since he spent most of his nights on the couch in the room with his radio—grimacing in pain and trying not fall down as the pain got bad.

“I'd offer to take the classes for you, but those idiots have a no hats in the classroom rule,” JD said, helping him cross the last few feet to his bed. “That, and I'd probably never fool any of your teachers.”

“It wouldn't be that hard,” Mark told him. “I'm basically invisible around there unless a teacher calls on me, so I mumble an answer and life goes on without a single person knowing I'm alive.”

“Yeah, well, I mouth off to everyone and their brother, so that's not as easy as you think,” JD said, going to the closet. “Hey, Mark?”

“What?”

“Do you actually dress yourself?”

“Screw you.”

* * *

Hard Harry was all anyone could talk about in homeroom.

Normally, Nora missed this class, and without any regrets because she didn't know how she'd been cursed to be put in the same room with all three Heathers and their clone as well as Paige Woodward, but to her surprise, she'd found that both Betty Finn and Martha Dunnstock were here, too, a fact she'd overlooked in the past.

“Did you hear it last night?” Martha asked, shaking her head and pulling on her Big Fun shirt in disgust. “I need that song. It was everything...”

“I feel so bad for that boy who wrote that letter,” Betty said, shaking her head. “How horrible that must be.”

Nora nodded. She'd turned off her radio feeling completely gutted last night. She'd wanted so much more from Harry, but she understood why he'd struggle to say anything after that. The pain was so raw in that letter. The writer hadn't disguised it, hadn't used any pretty words to cover over the ugliness. It was all so stark, so open and out there for all to hear. And Harry had been affected by it, you could tell, even with his voice altered like it was.

“You are such idiots,” Heather Chandler said. “I suppose the loser squad would believe that tissue of lies, but anyone with half a brain could tell he made up all of that for his show. He's jerking you around, and you're letting him.”

“You're just saying that because you don't want to admit it's your red paper behind the Eat Me, Beat Me letters,” Courtney said, giving Heather a smile that wanted to kill. “Or the one about poor Miss Popular.”

Heather glared back at her. “The Eat Me, Beat Me lady is some idiotic virgin who has never seen a dick and never will. If she had, she wouldn't be writing pathetic love letters to a freak and a pervert. I wouldn't be surprised if it was you, Courtney.”

Courtney fumed, glaring back at her.

Nora almost wanted to correct them both and tell them those letters were hers, but she knew better than to say that in front of any popular girl. Even Paige Woodward seemed uncomfortable, and she was perfect, right?

“If they ever find this creep, I bet he'll be forced to admit that letter's not even real. That kind of thing doesn't happen in Sherwood.”

“You don't know that,” Veronica Sawyer protested. “There could be hundreds, thousands of kids dealing with that kind of thing, and we wouldn't even know because their parents are good at covering it up, just like the letter said. No one cares, just like the letter said. You're actually helping that monster beat his kid by telling everyone it's not real and it doesn't happen. It does happen, and it happens here.”

Nora thought about the book Sawyer had been desperate to check out, the one on family law she'd said was a matter of life and death. Could Sawyer actually know the kid that wrote that letter?

“Like you know anything, Veronica,” Heather said. “You're such a sheep you didn't even wear makeup today because of him. Was it you behind that poor Miss Perfect letter after all? Here I thought you had more class than that.”

Veronica glared back at her, but before anything else could happen, the bell rang, dismissing them all from homeroom. She grabbed her bag and hurried from the room, leaving her so-called friends behind. Heather Chandler glared at her back, looking like she was planning an ugly revenge for Sawyer's defiance, and Courtney just smirked, enjoying everyone's squabbles.

Betty turned to Nora. “Do you think that letter was fake?”

“I think we just wish it was, but for at least one kid around here, it's probably true,” Nora said, shaking her head. “Oh, Martha. I taped last night, so remind me, and I'll get you the song, okay?”

“Really? Thanks. That'd be awesome.”

* * *

Veronica hadn't meant to argue with Heather in front of everyone. She knew better than that, but she couldn't help it. Heather liked to ignore a lot of things outside of her own little world, the one where she was queen, but she couldn't deny that for everyone. Veronica couldn't let her go around telling people that abuse wasn't happening to kids in this area when it was. JD was a victim of it, and Veronica doubted he was the only one, because he wouldn't have written that letter. He seemed almost to have given up on getting away from his father half the time, and it scared her.

She was not going to let that happen, and if Hard Harry's broadcast helped her prove that stuff like this was happening here, then she'd get it replayed everywhere and make the song he'd used to promote it bigger than any other. She didn't know how, but she'd do something, anything, whatever she could to keep JD safe and in her life.

She had a feeling that her days as a Heather were numbered, though. Heather was still not thrilled about that Remington party, or with Veronica ditching them yesterday, and now with her standing up to her today, she knew she'd almost nailed her own coffin shut.

She tried to shake it off. If only she hadn't let JD steal her makeup this morning. It had seemed cute until she didn't pass inspection with Heather, and everything had gone wrong after that, since Heather remained determined to badmouth Hard Harry.

It was kind of funny, thinking about her being the person who wrote the Eat Me, Beat Me letters, but Veronica doubted it. She knew that red was Heather's color—but only in Heather's mind. It wasn't like she'd kept Courtney from wearing it. She'd only managed to control Veronica and the other Heathers that way, and the rest of the world did not believe that color only belonged to Heather. Anyone could have sent those letters.

She shook her head and started down the hall, frowning when she saw someone she knew shouldn't be here. If he was, something must have gone wrong, right? She ran up, grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him into the nearby closet.

“What are you doing here? Are you insane?” Veronica asked, but JD didn't answer her. She frowned. “Did you do that with your hair so you could sneak in here? Or was it so you'd have a better chance at any job interviews? Did you already get one? That's fast.”

“Uh...”

She shook her head. “I don't care. I'm glad you're here.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. Something felt off, and she stepped back, reaching up to touch his lip. “You lied to me. You did see your father. Damn it, JD.”

He coughed. “Not JD.”

“What?”

“Not JD,” he repeated, fleeing the room, leaving Veronica standing there completely confused and very upset.

* * *

JD smoothed his hair back and took a breath. He wasn't really the sort of person who went in for this kind of thing. He didn't figure most people would consider him fit for any job outside drug dealer—with the exception of the few that thought he'd make a decent prostitute—and his father and just about everyone else he'd met here would laugh at him for any of those standard teenage jobs. Bag boys, newspaper delivery, golf course caddy, stockers, busboys... about anything he could think of seemed like a poor fit for a kid like him, especially ones that meant uniforms and all that.

He didn't really care. He'd do what he had to, and if a job got him away from his dad, then he was going to do his best to get one.

He stepped inside the building, and the man behind the counter took one look at him and held up his hands in surrender.

He nodded to the register. “Take what you want. We don't want no trouble.”

JD should have left the coat on the bike, even if he was afraid of someone stealing all he had left if he did and felt rather stupid in this outfit, even if it was just a nice button up shirt and all.

“Uh, actually, I saw the sign in the window. You still hiring?”

The man put down his hands, frowning. “You want a job? You?”

JD sighed. Definitely should have left the coat behind. “Yeah, I do. I was kind of thinking of—”

The bell above the door jingled again, and with some kind of perfect asshole timing, the jocks from yesterday came in. They went right for the bags of chips, picking them up and throwing them to each other. The younger two went to the soda machine and started pushing the buttons, letting the stream run without a cup underneath it.

The man behind the counter swore, going over to them. _“Fermati!_ Put that down. Stop that. You need to pay for that. No, pay now or leave at once.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ram Sweeney asked. “What're you going to do about it, _spic?”_

“How about nothing, Ram?”

JD walked over to the other side of the aisle and leaned across it. “I believe my friend here just asked you boys to leave.”

Ram and Kurt stared at him. “You.”

“Shit,” the other two said, rushing past the old man and almost knocking him over as they ran outside. Kurt and Ram exchanged a look and bolted a second later.

JD smiled grimly, enjoying that more than he should have, but if they were still afraid of him, then they weren't going to try anything against him or Mark, which was good.

Something hugged him, and the old man started muttering on, mixing in a healthy dose of Italian that JD didn't understand—racist idiots hadn't even gotten that right—and ended up kissing both his cheeks before letting him go.

“You start today, _sì?”_

“That depends,” JD said. “You have a slushie machine?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD finds out about the day's events, Heather Chandler thinks she knows how to solve all her problems, and Mark tries hard to balance everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a very depressing day of car repairs that I can't really afford, and so I have to apologize if the humor here isn't what it ought to be. I tried.

* * *

JD pulled up to the curb in front of the school. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be on these grounds, but he didn't care about that. Even if the school tried to force him off, he'd be fine, and extending his suspension would actually work in his favor right now since he could work during school hours and be off when Veronica was. He kind of liked that idea. Maybe he should just go for that test they offered for dropouts, that GED thing. He could consider himself done and give the courts another reason to emancipate him.

Trouble was, he still had no place to live and now few clothes to his name. That was going to make things difficult, almost like his father had known what he was doing when he wrecked JD's clothes. His father had probably just been pissed, maybe drunk as well, and JD would have found it funny he'd pushed him that far if Bud hadn't screwed him over by destroying stuff that actually kind of mattered.

He was just glad Slushie was still alive. And lucky, too, since he had a pseudo-twin with a bit of a debt to him to exploit. He didn't love the kid's fashion sense—what was with all the button up shirts? He was way too clean cut for JD's tastes, and the bright colors in his wardrobe didn't help, either.

Speaking of Mark... JD took out a cigarette and lit it, looking around for the other boy. He figured a ride might be good for another favor, since his stubborn new friend probably hadn't realized just how bad he'd feel after a full day of school. JD had tried to warn him, having endured worse from his father and been forced to go through the motions at school, but Mark hadn't listened.

Maybe if Mark dyed his hair—the light would go dark a hell of a lot easier than getting JD's dark to go lighter—they could do a bit of class swapping until the guy was really on his feet. That would keep Slushie with a roof over his head, at least, and give JD a place to pick up a few things and use the shower in a way no one would question.

He thought about the room Mark didn't even seem to sleep in. There seemed to be plenty of space in that house, and if he had to, he could pretend he was Mark so no one knew he was there. Not that he wanted to give up his nights with Veronica, but staying with Mark could have its advantages, if he had to or could swing it.

He looked across the courtyard and saw red first. There they were, the Heathers. Chandler sent him a death glare, and he knew she would have reported him if she didn't consider that beneath her. Sure enough, she sent the green one off to be the narc.

He didn't care. He'd leave soon enough on his own.

Another girl went up to Heather, one he didn't know the name of, but this little brunette seemed a bit bold. Whatever that conversation was, it didn't look pleasant. He smiled until he saw another girl to the side, dressed in a dark dress and staring at him.

He was still trying to figure out what the hell her problem was when Veronica came up to him.

“JD?”

He nodded, taking out a cigarette and passing it to her. “Good news, Ronnie.”

“Really?”

He nodded, about to explain how he'd stumbled onto his new found employment when Chandler's voice echoed across the courtyard. 

“Veronica, I need you. Now!”

“Duty calls,” she muttered, and he shook his head. If he did nothing else for Veronica, he was getting her away from those girls. He didn't know why she bothered. They made her miserable and asked her to do things she didn't want to do, including sleeping with guys she barely knew.

“You might have said your girlfriend was Veronica Sawyer,” Mark muttered, sounding a bit irritated. JD looked behind him, finding the kid standing with his back to the bike, not looking at him.

What was that, protection? Keeping the bike between them so JD couldn't do anything? Or was Mark afraid to be seen with him?

JD eyed him, not sure what that was about, blowing smoke in his face. What the hell business was it of Mark's who he dated? And he didn't care if Veronica was a Heather. She wasn't like the others, so if that was Mark's problem, he could stick it where the sun didn't shine.

“You got any more of those?”

JD handed him one, holding out his lighter and flicking it on for him. “They'll claim I got you started smoking next.”

“Fuck 'em,” Mark said, taking a drag and letting it out. “This isn't new.”

No, Mark probably would have choked on it if it was, but JD also figured that he didn't usually smoke around school, not when his father's spies told him everything he did. “How bad you hurting right now?”

Mark shrugged. “Spent lunch in the library instead of my usual place on the steps. Fell asleep and missed the rest of the afternoon, so I guess I'm fucked either way.”

“Sounds like it.” JD wasn't sure he had a solution for that, though he'd like to, since keeping Mark in debt to him was useful, and he'd just been trying to sort out his living arrangements. “Suppose there's always the secret weapon.”

“What?”

“This,” JD said, gesturing to the two of them. “I figure they won't have much to say after seeing us together. Though if those idiots from yesterday say anything...”

“Would figure it would be all over the school if they had. They don't have small mouths,” Mark said. “I think they're still afraid of you.”

“I know they are.” JD smiled, remembering their reaction to seeing him at that little shop. He had enjoyed that a lot. He looked over as Veronica walked back up to. “So what does the hairy she-beast want?”

“A show of loyalty,” Veronica answered but didn't explain. “Speaking of, what was with you earlier?”

“What do you mean? Taking your makeup? I told you—you're beautiful without it.”

“Not that. The whole thing in the supply closet.”

“Supply closet?”

“Don't screw with me, JD. That was not funny.”

“And also not me,” JD said, though when he turned to ask Mark about it, the other boy had gone.

“That's what you said after I kissed you.”

“What?”

* * *

“Come on in,” Nora said, opening the door for the girls who'd walked home with her. Her parents were out, so she didn't have to worry about them asking questions or wanting to stick their noses in anything, not that they usually did. “My room's back this way. I'll get you the tape.”

She gave Martha and Betty a warm smile, though she knew her room was a mess. She hadn't cleaned over the weekend or the day before, and she hadn't actually planned on spending any time here this afternoon. She'd been thinking about watching Hard Harry's mailbox for any sign of the real him. She didn't know why, but she wanted to do it alone.

“Wow,” Martha said as she stepped into Nora's room. “Did you do all these yourself?”

Nora nodded, looking at the papers cluttering her walls. She should take them down and organize them, maybe even burn or toss a few of them. “This would be why I'm always in looking for black paint.”

Martha smiled. Betty went over to the wall, lifting the corners of one of the ones Nora had done while listening to Hard Harry. “I think this one is my favorite. I wish I could draw.”

“I sculpt.”

Nora looked over at Martha. “No shit?”

Betty blushed at the language. Martha didn't seem bothered by it.

“Well, it's not much, not like big things,” Martha told them, now getting a bit embarrassed. “I make clay models of things. I used to do it all the time with Heather before she became a Heather.”

Nora frowned. “Heather Chandler was your friend?”

“No, Heather Duke.”

“She never seemed like she could be so mean,” Betty said, shaking her head. “Her nose was always in a book. Of course, I didn't think Veronica could be so mean, either.”

“I don't know,” Nora said, “there might be hope for her.”

“You think so?”

Nora shrugged. Right now, Veronica Sawyer was another thing she didn't have quite figured out, though she wasn't as curious about the other girl as she was Hard Harry. He was the mystery she had to solve. Veronica was just someone who might need to rethink her friends.

Her boyfriend was cute, though, in that dark rebellious sort of way. And he reminded her so much of someone else, but she hadn't been able to get a good enough look at him today to be sure.

“She stood up to Heather Chandler about the kid who was being abused. Maybe she's not as soulless as I thought.”

Betty's eyes lit up with hope, and Nora wished she hadn't said anything, not wanting to be wrong about that.

* * *

“What are we doing here?” Veronica asked, getting off the bike and looking around. This place would fit with what Hard Harry had talked about the other night, with all the same looking houses in the same colors. It was actually kind of scary in a way. “I thought we were going to celebrate your job with a slushie.”

“We are. I just have to deal with something first,” JD said, walking up to the house. She knew this wasn't his dad's place, but it worried her all the same. This had better not be where he was working. He'd said was a store, and this place was someone's home. If they sold anything here, it was probably drugs, and she was not letting him deal drugs.

He opened the sliding door and went inside. She stared at him, not sure what he thought he was doing. She wanted to leave, to go get that slushie and celebrate, knowing he was one step closer to free if he could hold onto that job.

She gave the house another glance. She didn't like this, and she lasted only a minute before following JD up and into the house.

And stopped dead.

“There are _two_ of you?”

“Not exactly,” JD said, and she had to wonder if that actually was him, even if she should know. She'd been intimate with him, right? So she knew his body, didn't she?

Oh, God. What if she didn't?

“She's freaking out,” the other boy said, and JD shot him a death glare.

“You think?” He crossed over and took hold of her, leading her to the couch where the other boy was sitting. “Veronica, this is Mark. Mark, this is—oh, wait, you already know. You were about to explain to me why you kissed my girlfriend.”

Mark put a hand to his head. “She kissed me. I left as soon as it happened. And, seriously, what the hell? Why didn't you tell her?”

Veronica swallowed, feeling a little sick as she tried to process this. “Two of you. And you didn't say anything. You let me make all these plans to emancipate you from your dad and didn't say anything about your twin?”

“Um, we're not actually related,” Mark said. “My last name is Hunter.”

Veronica shook her head. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I kind of think one or more of us could be adopted,” JD told her, and from the way Mark stared at him, JD hadn't shared that with him. He was keeping secrets from more than her. “I haven't had a chance to look into it. If Bud has those records, he's got them locked in the safe where he keeps his important shit, and that's going to take some time to get into, if I even could. I kind of figured it would be easier to check on Mark's records.”

“Adopted. And twins.”

“Again, we don't know that,” JD said. “Why didn't you stay at the bike?”

“Because this was weird, and I was worried, and you can't keep the fact that you have a twin from me,” Veronica said, wondering why he thought that could ever be okay. “We're dating. We've had sex—”

“Whoa. I did not need to know that,” Mark said, starting to rise and then stopping like he was light-headed. He grabbed the couch and stood still, taking a few deep breaths.

“Sit down before you fall down, Mark,” JD ordered, shaking his head. “We never switched places like that, okay, Ronnie? I sat in on dinner for him once. That's it—aside from this whole kissing business.”

“I thought he was you,” Veronica snapped. “No one told me you had a twin.”

“I don't. Or I don't know,” JD said, getting frustrated and starting to pace. “Look, it's not what you think. It's just... Remember when I told you that Ram and Kurt had attacked another kid? That was Mark. They jumped him for the crime of looking like me.”

Veronica looked at Mark again, nodding numbly and sitting down in the chair behind her. “Okay. So... Ram and Kurt attacked him, you stopped them, brought him home, ate dinner with his parents, and never once bothered to tell me he looks _exactly like you?”_

JD grimaced, but nodded anyway. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Great,” Veronica said. “That's just fucking great. I've been worried sick about you, but you don't even seem to think I deserve the truth about this, and this is not something little, JD. It's big. It's almost huge. I'm in so much shit with Heather because you took my makeup this morning and I told her off when she claimed Hard Harry made up that letter about abuse and said no one here was dealing with that and that I was the one who wrote that Miss Popular letter when I'm not and now she's demanding I do another Remington party which basically means—”

“Fuck, no,” JD told her. “You are not sleeping with one of those assholes just to because she says she'll ruin you socially. She is not worth this, Veronica. None of the Heathers are. And the only reason I didn't tell you is because I still don't know what the hell this is myself. Mark and I have no idea how we look alike. We're not cousins, never had any brothers to our knowledge, never even met before Ram and Kurt mistook him for me, and the situation is really fucked up, all right? And if my dad finds out about Mark, there's a good chance he'll get another beating meant for me, so I've been letting you work on this whole getting away me away from him thing. I got the job, remember?”

She nodded. She knew that was one of the things JD had to have, and she was glad he had it, but her mind was still reeling from seeing this guy who looked so much like him. “We were supposed to celebrate.”

“Don't stop on my account,” Mark said. Then he winced. “Unless you mean the sex part, which I have to ask you to take somewhere else because that's just too fucking weird even for me.”

Veronica started laughing, thinking about the whole accidental threesome thing that they'd discussed with Hard Harry on the air and how she might not have stopped at a kiss in that closet if she hadn't found that cut on Mark's lip. Oh, hell.

Both of them looked at her, and she couldn't pull herself together in the face of that.

* * *

“Heather, you can't,” Heather McNamara said, looking at her friend as Heather Chandler went through another outfit change, determined to find the best one for this Remington party she was taking Veronica to tonight.

“Excuse me?” Chandler began, turning to face her. “Exactly what can't I do?”

Heather sighed. She shouldn't have said anything. “It's just... Veronica really seems to like this trench coat guy, and you know the only reason the guys at Remington are willing to have us there is so we'll sleep with them. That one would not listen to me when I told him I had a boyfriend.”

“You could do so much better than Ram,” Chandler muttered. “Get a real man, a college man.”

“I don't know, Heather,” Duke said. “I think Heather's right. The only reason they want us there is sex, and if Veronica does have a thing with this guy, she's not going to do it.”

“She's going to do it because I say she's going to do it or she's out,” Chandler snapped. “I have had enough of that guy ruining my school. He has to pay one way or another, and if it's not at Ram and Kurt's hands, then it'll be at mine. I'll teach him what it means to mess with a Heather.”

“How is taking Veronica to a Remington party a lesson for that guy?”

Chandler looked at Duke. “Again with the brain tumor for breakfast. You are such a pillowcase. Hello, he thinks he has something with Veronica, but he doesn't. Tonight will prove that. When she chooses Brad over Jesse James, she'll show her loyalty to the right person.”

Heather frowned, exchanging a look with Duke. Somehow, a friend who'd ask you to sleep with some guy you didn't like to teach another guy a lesson didn't seem like much of a friend. “Maybe there's a better way of dealing with this guy. I mean, who cares if Veronica's getting some from this guy? Bad boys are supposed to be good at that sort of thing.”

Chandler folded her arms over her chest. “And that makes social suicide acceptable? I will not be brought down by Veronica. She either steps up and does what she's supposed to, or she's out.”

“This isn't even about Veronica,” Duke said, setting down her book. “It's about Courtney, isn't it? You're still mad about her accusing you of writing those letters. Why not prove she's wrong?”

“You are such an idiot. How would I prove that? Write in to that garbage show myself? I will not support that asshole. He's done enough damage already and taken Veronica from us. That cannot be allowed to stand.”

Heather shook her head. “That was his first day in school when he got in that fight. I know. He was in my American History class, and I remember the teacher doing that whole, 'we have a new student' routine. He flipped her off behind her back before he sat down.”

“I know I've seen him around school before that day,” Chandler said. “He put on the coat and dyed his hair to make everyone think differently, but it's the same kid, and if you don't stop arguing with me, you can both sit at the loser's table with Martha Dumptruck tomorrow.”

Duke picked up her book and shoved her nose back in it. “Yes, Heather.”

* * *

“Your girlfriend seems to have cracked,” Mark said, still not sure what to think of Veronica Sawyer or her little breakdown back there. Yeah, the lookalike thing was hard to accept, at least at first, and it still unsettled him—even more now that JD had planted that adoption thing in his head—but he would have thought she'd be a little less hysterical about the whole thing.

JD put a hand to his head. “Gotta do something about that Heather Chandler.”

Mark swallowed. That was going to be a hard thing for anyone to do, considering her power and influence. Unless JD was talking about the gun in his pocket, which Mark did not want to mention unless he set Veronica off again.

This wasn't like last night. He couldn't fake a letter from an abused kid to give him an excuse to give a message to JD in a desperate attempt to stop him from doing anything stupid. Mark didn't know much about emancipation, but it was a positive, legal way to change things with JD's psycho father instead of the whole gun thing, and it looked like JD was on the right path there, a much better one than Mark had thought he was using. That was good. Maybe what he'd done had worked. Maybe not. Maybe it helped others in similar situations to JD's. Mark didn't know. Couldn't know.

Mark hadn't gone by the mailbox today. He'd hurt too damned much and while he had been about to ask JD for a ride instead of trying to walk home, Veronica had shown up and messed up that plan.

“Look, Heather can make your girl's life miserable at school, but you can live with being miserable,” Mark said, and JD looked at him. “Just... don't let her go tonight. Take her someplace out of town to celebrate this job of yours. Problem solved. Well, until the shit hits the fan tomorrow, but it's better than even being in the position where she'd have to whore out to some guy at a party just to stay with the popular kids, right?”

JD nodded. “I'd feel better about it if I wasn't still suspended. At least I'd be there to help her.”

Mark couldn't believe he was about to say this, but he did anyway. “There's always what we discussed before. You could go in my place tomorrow, and you'll be back day after that.”

“Maybe,” JD said, and Mark thought he was actually thinking about it. “We should check on those bruises of yours.”

Mark winced. “I'm fine.”

“You passed out at lunch. You're not fine,” JD said. “Look, I had good reasons to keep this kind of shit to myself—my dad would have kicked my ass for getting help, even if the doctors just sent me home again and the counselor thought I was lying—but your parents aren't like that. If you need to see a doctor, then just do it. It's just a lecture, not another beating or worse.”

Mark knew he had a lot of JD's secrets—and now Veronica's—and to be fair, he should share some of his own, but JD was still on the edge, and he didn't know Sawyer enough to trust her with his big secret. He couldn't afford to let Hard Harry's identity be known to anyone, and if his parents knew about the attack, they'd try and turn him into the Bubble Boy, wanting to protect him, and he wouldn't be able to broadcast.

And there was a good chance if they did know about the fight, they'd bring JD's psycho dad down on all of them.

“My dad's the school commissioner,” Mark reminded him. “If he thinks you're the problem—and he will, you already know what he thinks about you—then he'll go straight to your dad because that's how he thinks this thing can be solved.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. So I'll be fine. You take Veronica away from here, and we deal with the fallout tomorrow, okay?” Mark asked, waiting for JD to respond. “One way or another, we're in this together.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark makes a discovery, which leads to an awkward broadcast while Veronica earns Heather's ire by avoiding the Remington party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got to the plot point from the one movie I wanted to do, though I also had to include a few other things... 
> 
> And I spent most of the time I could have been writing looking for the perfect song for Mark to play when he was upset, and I couldn't find the right one (eh, my angsty or angry music is mid-90s or later, and I was struggling to find something that would have conveyed the kind of feelings he was having then that was written prior to 1993. I considered Crowded House's _Don't Dream It's Over,_ Aerosmith's _Dream On,_ even Metallica's _One_ and still couldn't find the right tone or lyrics. I know the one I did use isn't quite right, but I had to pick something.)

* * *

Mark watched JD's bike disappear and dropped the curtain back in place. He wasn't sure what to think of the last few days, and a part of him hurt too much to do any real kind of thinking—which was half the reason he'd ended up kissed by JD's girlfriend—but one thought kept coming back to him with an annoying frequency, so loud and obnoxious it was like a metal song pounding in his head. He liked some metal stuff, that wasn't the problem. The problem was JD's idea that at least one of them might be adopted.

Mark had never given much thought to looking like either of his parents. Maybe his mom, a little, and he shared the need for glasses with his father, so he'd never seen a need to question his parentage before, but JD's arrival changed all that. Neither of them could deny the resemblance, and it was enough to fool his parents when JD sat in through dinner. Yeah, he'd worn a hat, but if his own parents couldn't tell the difference, this was not just some weird coincidence.

He knew his mother had siblings, a bunch of them, all boys, and she'd gladly fled them to be a free spirit flower child of the sixties, never looking back. His father was an only child, frequently reminding his mother of that when she said maybe Mark would be happier if he'd had a brother or a sister.

Now it almost looked like he had one.

He forced himself to ignore the pain and headed upstairs, figuring on making a stop at the medicine cabinet, too, if he had time. He wasn't sure if the makeup from this morning would still fool anyone, and he wasn't about to reapply it on his own—he hadn't wanted JD to do it, but he'd accepted that he couldn't go without it. Being invisible would have been impossible, and who knew if Ram and Kurt would try again if JD wasn't around? That, and him looking beat up would find its way back to his father the commissioner like everything else seemed to.

No, he would just take his chances with not having much time and hoping his mother would be caught up in going to the store after work. She only brought home food when she knew she needed to buy stuff but didn't want to shop, so he figured she'd be late. His father... that could go either way, but he had been working later, too.

Mark wasn't sure he cared if he got caught, which was dangerous, but he was going to have to confront them one way or another, try and find some explanation for JD, though if he had proof in hand when he did, it would be easier.

He went into his father's office, rounding the desk and opening the top right drawer. Brian Hunter was a creature of habit, and no one knew that better than his son, except maybe his wife. Mark knew his father hadn't moved the paper taped to the underside of the drawer, even if he had found it years ago when lying at his father's feet. Maybe his dad didn't think he'd ever do anything with it, and Mark had never needed to before, but things had changed.

He pulled the paper off, taking it with him to the closet. He opened the door and went to the safe, turning the dial. Right twenty, left five, and then right sixty. The safe opened, and Mark reached in to take out the papers. The deed to the house was on top, followed by the titles to each of his parents' cars. He flipped past the insurance policies and his parents' passports, their marriage license, and their birth certificates. Everything was in here, not that he was surprised by that. They'd bought the safe a long time ago for all this stuff, made sure it was very fireproof, and lectured Mark about the importance of keeping things in there—that being their reason why he didn't have his social security card or his birth certificate in his own stuff.

Though now, of course, he had to wonder if there was another reason.

He found a manila envelope at the bottom of the pile, and he swallowed, almost afraid to open it. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was just paranoid. JD could be wrong about the adoption, and just because JD might be didn't mean Mark was.

Though... the resemblance...

Mark pushed the metal tabs up, lifting the flap and taking out the papers inside. On top was his birth certificate, which listed the same familiar date he knew as his birthday. Brian Hunter was listed as father. Marla Hunter as mother. 

Okay, then. That settled that.

Except... the birth certificate wasn't the only thing in the folder, and he knew the other part wasn't his social security card. He took out the other paper, needing to see what it was. He read a few lines down and winced, not sure he could believe this.

_Final Adoption Decree._

Damn.

* * *

“This is so very,” Veronica said, not sure why she was being such an idiot. Wasn't it every teenager who played miniature golf? Didn't she think that it was a stupid thing for a date only a few months back when Betty suggested it? And here she was with JD, at a course well out of Sherwood, acting like it was the best thing in the universe.

Only it kind of was.

“My dad's company worked in Ohio before,” JD told her, taking her hand as they walked over the bridge. “We stopped here, just me and my mom. She loved the windmill, though she spent the whole night trying to get her ball through it. Never did.”

Veronica heard something in his voice and reached for his hand. “You never told me what happened to her. I assumed she was dead, but I guess I could have been wrong.”

JD shook his head. “No, she's dead. I... I don't want to talk about it, okay? Let's not spoil this. We're celebrating, remember?”

Veronica nodded, giving him the best smile she could fake. She didn't know that she could just forget about that, since half the reason they were celebrating was JD getting a job as part of emancipating himself from his abusive father, and the way he'd dodged the subject of his mother scared her. That, and she now know there was someone out there that looked exactly like JD's twin.

Could Big Bud have... abducted JD? Was he actually Mark's brother and someone kidnapped him when he was way too young to remember it? If JD didn't know his mother... did that mean Bud had taken him just to hurt him?

JD came up and wrapped his arms around her. “You thinking about Heather?”

“No,” Veronica answered, honestly, though as soon as he did mention that name, her mind went back to her, the demon queen, who would kill her for not going to Remington tonight.

“Liar. You're scared of what will happen if she turns on you.”

Veronica sighed. “It's different for you, JD. You're the rebel. People look up to you because you kicked Ram and Kurt's asses. You're also new. You haven't had to deal with the kind of stuff Heather is capable of. I'm just a girl who was popular for a while. Heather can destroy me at Westerburg, and Courtney would just love to finish me off.”

“Fuck 'em,” JD said, rocking her in his arms. “None of them actually matter. You just have to hang on for a bit longer and make it to graduation. Worst case, you transfer, and trust me, that's not as bad as it seems. I've done it seven times in the last seven years. And you're not alone. You've got me, right?”

Veronica nodded, though again, she found herself terrified of what would happen if she lost him. She couldn't let his dad take him or hurt him again. “What are we going to do about getting you a place to live?”

“I'm working on that, too. I won't be able to rent anything before I get some real money, but I was actually thinking of looking into a GED.”

“What?”

“Look, I'm not college bound like you, and you know it,” JD said. “My life is probably going to be one crappy manual labor job after another. The only good part about this one is that he has a slushie machine and he said I could have as much as I wanted as long as I kept scaring off Ram and the other idiots.”

“You're so much smarter than that, though, JD.”

He shook his head. “Nah, not me. Just average. Not like my genius here.”

She found herself smiling. “Oh, yeah? Well, this genius just had a really brilliant idea.”

“Oh?”

“We should go someplace... private. Right now.”

* * *

Heather was going to kill Veronica.

She wasn't home. Her parents didn't know where she was, just assumed she was with Heather and the other Heathers, and hadn't been worried at all until Heather told them she was most definitely not with them and most likely out with a trench coat wearing psychopath.

She could not believe this. This did _not_ happen to her. She was Heather Chandler. Everyone at Westerburg wanted her as a friend or a fuck, and she was worshiped. She did not have little upstarts like Veronica or Courtney challenge her.

No one was supposed to challenge her, ever.

Only Veronica had not just challenged her, she'd outright defied her by not showing up. Maybe if she'd had real balls, she'd have been home when Heather came to get her, but she wasn't. She was hiding somewhere, probably at that dick's house.

Heather would kill her for this. Veronica was a dead woman.

* * *

Nora wasn't sure when she ended up hosting an unofficial slumber party, but she had both Martha and Betty still in her room, on her bed. Martha was hard at work on a diorama, having somehow decided that the three of them needed to create something together, which meant Martha building figures, Betty giving them costumes, and Nora assigned to painting the background.

The parents all assumed it was for class, and none of them seemed to object to the late hour on a school night. An unkind part of Nora thought part of it was relief on the part of Martha and Betty's parents that either of them had a friend, but she squashed it down and refused to let that show. She didn't think there was anything wrong with either of them. Sure, Martha was overweight, but she was a kind person and a hard worker. Betty had really unflattering glasses, but she was generous. Really, that other stuff was surface. Being pretty—like the Heathers—didn't make them good people, and having some flaws like Betty and Martha actually made them... better somehow.

“Oh,” Betty cried, and Nora looked over, thinking she might have stabbed herself with a needle. “It's ten o'clock.”

“It is?” Martha asked. She looked at Nora. “Do you mind putting it on?”

Nora would have expected one of them to object more than she would, Betty more than Martha, even if she already knew that Betty listened to Hard Harry. “Nope. I haven't missed a show yet, and I don't intend to.”

She went over to her stereo and turned it on, tuning until she found the familiar sound of Everybody Knows. She hadn't been much of a Cohen fan before, but she was fond of that song. She'd always think of Harry when she heard it, and like he thought he knew her even though they'd never met, she felt the same.

“It's ten o'clock, and another day of lies has ended,” Harry began. “That's all it really is, right? A bunch of lies. People lie about everything these days. School. Grades. Food. Love... Love. Is it really love if someone's lying to you? I mean, if everything you've ever had with that person is a lie, then what you feel isn't real, is it?”

Martha and Betty were both frowning. Nora swallowed, feeling like there was something to that, something in his voice despite the alteration.

“Ah, fuck it,” Harry said. “Time for a bit of music to soothe the savage beast.”

“Oh, no,” Betty said, blushing and looking horrified at the idea of Harry masturbating on air, but he didn't start, just played Bon Jovi's _You Give Love a Bad Name_ instead. He didn't say anything while it played, didn't sing along as he sometimes did.

Something was up with Harry. Nora didn't know what it was, but she really wanted to know who he was so she could find out.

“Tonight I'm thinking I should finish up the mail I started last night,” Harry said. “Never know. Too much of it might build up, and I won't get to it, making a liar of myself since I told everyone a reply was guaranteed.”

Nora almost wished she could send the other two girls home. She did not know that she wanted company when he read her latest letter.

“'Dear Harry, I share a room with my older brother. Nearly every night after he turns off his light, he comes over to my bed, and gives me a few arm noogies and stuff. And then he makes me scratch his back and other refinements,'” Harry read off. He sounded almost amused when he continued. “Well, it's about time we had some refinements on this show.”

Martha and Betty both giggled, Betty looking much more relaxed now.

“'Then sooner or later, he gets worked up, and without further ado, he rubs his thing and makes me watch,'” Harry finished, and Betty was back to flushing and looking embarrassed. Martha was very focused on her clay creations. “Signed yourself 'Screwed Up.' Well, first of all, you're not screwed up. You're an unscrewed-up reaction to a screwed-up situation. Feeling screwed up in a screwed-up place in a screwed-up time does not mean that you are screwed up... If you catch my drift.”

Nora had to wonder if he included himself in that, if he felt screwed up, or if that was also something for last night's letter, with the abuse. This was screwed up, but since it was, Harry was right. Screwed up was the way to feel.

“Now, as you know, dear listeners, if you enclose your number, a reply is guaranteed,” he said, and both Martha and Betty looked up, watching the radio as he dialed. “This is Happy Harry Hard-on. You're live. Is this Miss Screwed Up?”

“Yes.”

“I have a couple of questions. How big is this thing you described? Is it bigger than a baby's arm?”

Betty was even redder now, covering her mouth and shaking, as if she was trying not to laugh but also horrified by her reaction. Martha just sat there, a bit stunned.

“You don't remember, or you don't want to tell me?” Harry pressed. “Or maybe you made this whole thing up, huh? Remember, my dear—I can smell a lie like a fart in a car.”

Nora had to laugh at that, and whoever “Screwed-Up” was, she hung up.

“It's too bad about that one, actually,” Harry said, really sounding disappointed. “You see, to me, the real truth is always a bigger turn-on. And it doesn't have to be a big deal. It could be anything.”

“Like that horrible one last night,” Martha said, and Betty nodded.

“So, I don't know. Send me your most pathetic moment, your most anything. As long as its real. I want the size, the shape, the feel, the smell. I mean—I want blood, sweat, and tears on these letters. I want brains and ectocasm and come spilled all over 'em! Hallelujah!”

Betty giggled. “He's so weird.”

He was something so much better than weird, Nora thought. The truth being a bigger turn on, that she liked. A lot more than she should.

She really did wish she was alone right now. Hard Harry might like an audience, but Nora didn't.

She turned her attention back to her drawing. She needed to do something about truth now. She looked over at Martha's project and bit her lip, trying to decide if it would offend the other girl if she didn't finish the scenery just yet.

“I think I liked what he said about truth, though,” Betty said. “Shouldn't we want what we have with people to be real?”

Martha nodded. “At least then your friends won't abandon you to be popular. And you won't find yourself humiliated in front of the entire school.”

Nora shook her head. “I'm not sure anyone at Westerburg knows what truth is anymore.”

“That's not true,” Betty said. “We do. All of us right here, we do.”

Nora grimaced. About that...

* * *

“I don't know,” Mark said, lighting another cigarette and blowing smoke into the mic. He really didn't. His mood was all over the place since he'd found that paperwork in the safe. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do about it. He'd almost ranted the whole thing out there and then on the air, which would have been a disaster. 

He almost wished he hadn't told JD to take Veronica out of town. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone about this, and he didn't know what to say or think. It was one thing to create a fake letter to reach JD, but how did he do that for himself? He couldn't give himself advice. He didn't know what the hell to think.

He should stop the broadcast, but then what the hell would he do? He couldn't sleep, and spending the whole night pacing around waiting on the off chance JD would show back up was out. He could go confront his parents, but he didn't want to. He wanted to know what the hell he felt first.

“Drugs are out. Sex is out. Politics are out. Everything is on hold. We definitely need something new. I just keep waiting for some new voice to come out of somewhere and just say, 'Hey. Wait a second. What is wrong with this picture?'”

The real question was what wasn't wrong with this picture at this point. What if JD's father was Mark's real biological one? That thought made him sick. He didn't want that to be true.

He snatched up another envelope, tearing it open and hoping for a good distraction. “Maybe this is the answer to everything. Wouldn't that be nice, huh?”

He knew no one would answer, though he'd even take being exposed to JD as Hard Harry to have someone to talk to. Maybe he should call a different radio host and talk out his problems. He snorted. That was a stupid idea. 

He saw the words on the page and almost threw up.

“'Dear Hard Harry, do you think I should kill myself?'” Mark read off, not aware he'd done it at first. “Great.”

First he got mistaken for the trench coat kid and beaten, that same kid rescued him and looked almost exactly like him, and then he found out same kid was also being abused, so he had to try and stop him from doing something crazy, and then kissed by JD's girlfriend who mistook him for JD, explaining things to her brought up this adoption thing, and then he'd found out he was adopted, and the other letter writer had just done it as a stupid prank, and now he was facing another one, wasn't he?

“Signed 'I'm Serious.'” Mark looked at the bottom of the page. Damn. “And, of course, there is a number here.”

He picked up the phone and dialed the number. This had better be a joke. “Hello. Serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Mark asked before wincing at the stupidity of that one. “I guess what I'm asking is, how serious are you? Or how you gonna do it?”

“I'm gonna blow my fuckin' head off.”

Mark thought he recognized this—someone trying to sound a lot tougher than he was. “Well, do you have a gun?”

“No, I'm gonna use my finger, genius.”

Fine, be an asshole. What did Mark care about that? Almost everyone in his life right now could qualify for that. “All right, so, where's this gonna take place, huh?”

“Right here.”

So the kid's bedroom? Mark knew he was lucky—if this was JD, he knew the gun was real and he'd have to worry that JD would kill Veronica, too, or his dad. There was a good chance this kid was only bluffing. “Where is this alleged gun? Do you have it with you?”

Silence. Yeah, this kid was faking it, and that pissed Mark off after all he'd been through lately.

“Did you at least write a note? You have a reason, don't you? You're not gonna be one of those people who kills themselves, and nobody has any idea why they did it. That's why we need a note, pal.”

“I'm all alone.”

That hit Mark like a kick in the gut. Serious did sound serious now. “Hey, look, maybe it's okay to be alone sometimes. I mean, I... Everybody's alone.”

“You're not.”

Oh, Mark was. He was so alone it was driving him insane. “You don't know how alone I feel right now. There was... Something happened, and my parents, well, they're clueless. I think I said that. I can't tell them. Hell, I don't _want_ to tell them. They screwed me over. Trust me, I could lay one hell of a sob story on you, and I'm not even the kid from the letter last night. Still... I sit alone every day, you know? Sit in the stairwell, eating my lunch, reading a book. Most days, I don't talk to anyone but teachers. Well, and my radio. I talk too much to it, but isn't that a sign I'm just as alone as you are?”

The phone clicked off to the dial tone, and Mark sighed. He shook his head, hitting redial.

“I'll admit it. I'm depressed. I feel a bit like killing myself,” Mark said. He wouldn't, not before he shared what he knew with JD, but that didn't mean he hadn't had his life completely overturned. He had no idea what to do about this. “Great. He's got the phone off the hook now.”

Mark reached for another cigarette, not even remembering finishing the last one. “People always think they know who a person is, but they're always wrong. Parents have no idea. It really bugs me. Everyone thinks they know how a person should be. Who cares how I should be, you know? In real life, I could be that anonymous nerd sitting across from you in chem lab, staring at you so hard... Then when you turn around, he tries to smile, but the smile just comes out all wrong. You just think, 'how pathetic.' Then he just looks away. He never looks back at you again. But who cares, right?”

Mark shook his head. He couldn't keep talking. Not tonight. He was done in all over again. He let REM's _Everybody Hurts_ play again, hoping Serious was still listening.

“Well, sleep tight, Cheryl. Sleep tight, Miss Perfect. Sleep tight, Miss Refinements. Sleep tight, poetry lady. Sleep tight, Mr. Serious. Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow. Maybe we all will.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica ends up in trouble with more than just Heather, Mark tells JD what he knows, and someone else makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was struggling to write today, and part of it was that I really wasn't sure I wanted to keep either film's body count, even if that is kind of a big part of the plot in each of them. It made me regret not having someone to talk over story ideas even if I'm a disaster for betas. I considered writing two versions to test which was better, I wrote a side story, and I tried to do a side one here, but in the end, I found this chapter was still possible, and I managed to write it somehow.

* * *

If the night had been perfect, Veronica knew now, the morning would be hell.

Not that it was entirely unexpected. She and JD had fallen asleep after their frantic coupling, the whole out of town thing with the weight of everything that was pressing on them making them crazy and desperate and way too horny for miniature golf. She hadn't wanted to think about his dad coming for him or not getting the emancipation to work, any of the complications that Mark's existence brought with it, or Heather's threats and what school would be like.

Forgetting had sounded good, but they forgot too much.

And so she faced down her parents at two am, both of them angry and worried, and one step from calling the police.

In that, they were very, very lucky. Her parents hadn't called the police yet, but had another half hour gone by, they would have.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her father demanded, and there would be no fond banter now. Veronica knew that. “You know when your curfew is. You know when bedtime is.”

She hadn't been asleep on time since she started hanging with the Heathers, and she didn't think she'd made it home before curfew much those days, but that was different. She knew they'd try and tell her that it was.

“I was out with a friend,” Veronica answered, more or less honestly. “We played miniature golf.”

“You were not at the miniature golf course here. I checked.”

“No, we went out of town, some place my friend knew from when—”

“Jason Dean,” her mother broke in. “Yes, we know his name. We know what he did at school, too. He picked a fight with two nice young boys and could have done them real harm.”

Veronica frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Heather Chandler. She stopped by to pick you up for a party and was very concerned when you weren't here.”

“Heather wanted to take me to that party to whore me out to some college boys, but sure, believe she was concerned all you want,” Veronica muttered. “And, yes, I was with JD. We went out for slushies and miniature golf at a course his mom showed him when he was a kid. It was nice. It was also hours away, so we got back late, that's all.”

“That's all,” her mother repeated, sounding suspicious. “I don't think so.”

Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “What, you want to take a look up my skirt? Should I present my panties for inspection?”

“Now you wait one damned minute, young lady,” her father began. “First of all, don't talk to your mother that way. Secondly, no. That's not happening.”

She figured getting in their faces about it was about the only real way to handle that, but that didn't mean she'd won. Her parents were still pissed.

“You're not going to see this boy again,” her mother said. “And you're grounded for the rest of the school year.”

“What?”

“You heard your mother,” her father said. “You will not see this boy again, and you will be home every night from now on. This kind of behavior is unacceptable. Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

“I know,” she said. “You told me when I walked in that you were just about to call the police. Look, that wasn't supposed to happen. I should have told you I was going out, but JD didn't want to bring me back for Heather to have a chance to bully me into going. That's the only reason we didn't stop here after school. I was going to introduce you to him today. Yesterday. And you'd see he's not that bad. Yes, he dresses in black with a trench coat, and he did get in a fight with Ram and Kurt, but he didn't start it. Most of what he did was avoiding them. He's not like that. He's sweet. He's been so good to me, if you only saw that—”

“Any boy is sweet when he wants in your pants,” her father said crudely. “Don't fall for it. Now go up to your room. I'm driving you to school in the morning, and your mother will be picking you up. Don't even think about calling him. We've taken the phone out of your room.”

Veronica nodded, knowing there was no point in trying to argue with them, not now. Maybe when they were calmer. She'd make up some kind of excuse and take them by JD's new job to prove he wasn't what they thought.

She was going to kill Heather, though. She hated that bitch so much right now.

Veronica rushed up the stairs, taking them as fast as she could and making sure she slammed the door shut behind her. That didn't make her feel any better.

“You think they'll come up to yell at you for that?”

She looked up at JD, tears spilling out of her eyes. “I don't know. I don't think so. Oh, God. They're such idiots. We're idiots. I knew it would be bad, but they say I can't see you again. Heather's got them convinced you're an axe murderer. And I've been grounded—”

“Shh,” JD said, wrapping his arms around her. He spoke low in her ear. “We'll get through this somehow. I'll think of something.”

She nodded. “Hold me, please. Don't let go.”

* * *

JD parked his bike on the edge of the lot, ignoring the comments from the other delinquents and dropouts that seemed to gather here in this area. That one kid was always here, though JD was almost sure he'd been expelled. He didn't seem to know what else to do with his time but look tough and heckle Paige Woodward as she was dropped off.

That would not be JD. He swore it.

He looked around again, trying to find the car he knew was Mr. Sawyer's. He had forced himself up and out of Veronica's room early, knowing that her parents would be even angrier if he was still in her bed in the morning, even if all they'd done was hold each other all night.

He had to see her again, though, to let her know that he hadn't abandoned her, even if he had left. He was still going to help her face Heather Chandler. Hell, he'd almost be willing to kill that bitch if she tried anything.

The gun was for his dad, but that didn't mean JD couldn't use it for others, too.

“I thought we agreed we were switching places today.”

JD turned to see Mark standing next to his bike. Shit. He was a mess. Oh, the shirt was fine, and untucked it looked a hell of a lot better, but the hat didn't hide anything. The bruises were yellowing and looking worse, and he could see one ducking out under the short sleeves and the kid's face—damn, that brought back bad memories.

“You look like hell.”

Mark shrugged. “Fell asleep at my desk last night, and no one bothered to come help with the concealer this time. Would have tried to do it on my own, but someone also kept said concealer, so there wasn't much else to do.”

JD winced. He'd meant to, in part to keep Mark further indebted to him but also because he knew that it was harder to tell if the bruise was covered doing it himself. It might look like it to him in the mirror, but the mirror wasn't someone else's eyes, and it wasn't always easy to be sure if the blending was right and the whole makeup thing itself was obvious or not.

“Last night didn't exactly go to plan.”

Mark frowned. “What, she went to that damned party? What the hell is wrong with her?”

JD shook his head. “She didn't. We were out of town. Didn't make it back before curfew. Oh, and Heather told her parents I'm the devil, so she's grounded and forbidden from seeing me.”

Mark grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Your idea was good. We just... got a little carried away, and I wasn't paying attention to the time, other than wanting to make sure she wouldn't be able to go after I dropped her off again.” JD shook his head, taking out a cigarette. He couldn't have fucked things up better if he'd tried, and he still didn't know how he'd fix this. He couldn't lose Veronica, but her parents were hell bent on her not seeing him, and he knew everyone would side with them because of how late it had been when they got back.

And what they'd done while they were gone.

“Look, we need to talk,” Mark said. “I... I found this in my parents' safe.”

He held out an envelope. JD took it, pulling out the papers. Looked like something from a court, and sure enough, it was. Wait. _Adoption Decree._ Holy shit.

“This real?”

“Apparently,” Mark said. He reached up to run his hand through his hair, knocking the hat off. “I know I've seen my birth certificate before. And it looked the same. They're listed as my parents, but that says... they're not.”

That was debatable, though for JD, he knew he'd take it as a sure sign Big Bud wasn't his father. It might even explain some of the stuff he'd been doing. The thought had him gagging, and he turned away, not wanting Mark to see that. He shoved the papers back in the envelope.

“Did you ask them about it?”

“No.”

“You planning on it?”

“I don't know what the fuck to do, okay? My parents aren't my parents. And I don't want to think that my real dad is that monster that yours is, okay? That's just so messed up, and if he is—”

“Whoa,” JD said, taking hold of the other boy by the shoulders. “Calm down. Easy. Breathe. Just breathe. Keep breathing.”

He reached down for the hat and put it back on Mark's head. “I haven't gone back to my house for obvious reasons, but there's still a chance there's one of those forms in there for me, okay? And even if Big Bud is our real dad... fuck him. He's not a dad in any way that matters, and you don't ever have to acknowledge him like that.”

Mark nodded. “I'm sorry. It was just... it was a long, bad night. I can't even tell you how bad it was. I... I think I screwed up. I know I did. I just...”

“They don't know you took this, do they?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay, so here's what we'll do,” JD said. Then he swore. “Shit, I said I'd work today, and I can't lose this job. Not if I want to get away from him. So... um... damn it... Okay, I'll work until lunch. You be out front waiting for me, and we'll go see if we can find the papers at my house.”

“Isn't that a really bad idea?”

“Yes, but if there's two of us, one of us can stand watch while the other one does the looking just in case he comes home for some reason,” JD said, feeling a bit better with a plan in place. “Let's go fix your face.”

“What about Veronica?”

“I'll tell her about the change in plans in a minute. She's stronger than she thinks. She'll be okay.”

“Heather is going to make her life hell.”

“So I'll write the damned dj and expose her Remington party for what it is and have him tell the whole fucking school she's acting like a madam and pimping out her friends,” JD muttered. “Come on. We don't have a lot of time, and I can't afford to get caught here.”

* * *

“You planning on staying in that stall all day?” Nora asked, looking at the shut door and shaking her head. “Normally, I wouldn't care, but I don't know when the last time the custodian came by, and there's no toilet paper in either of the other stalls, so...”

She was lying, but she didn't care.

The other girl tried to offer her the roll under the door. Nora shook her head. She wasn't going to let her get away with that. No, nothing less than the door opening would be enough.

“Are you really going to hide in the bathroom from Heather Chandler all day? Because that's kind of pathetic.”

Veronica opened the door and looked at her. “You don't know anything about it. It's not about Heather. Okay, I'm pissed she told my parents my boyfriend's a psychopathic killer, and I'm also humiliated because she's been saying stuff all morning, but I am not hiding. I just... I needed a minute, that's all.”

“Try an hour.”

Veronica winced, putting a hand to her head. “I almost wish I was a boy and would just get beaten up instead of this. I mean, not that I want that, but even that seems appealing compared to endless insults. And isn't Courtney just loving this, that bitch.”

“I think a lot of people would,” Nora told her, and Veronica frowned. “Seriously? Heather thinks she's loved, but she was feared and hated. Same with the rest of you, though mostly because you'd tattle to her.”

“I wouldn't have.”

“Maybe not.”

“No maybe. I caved writing that letter for Martha, but you know why she's doing this to me?” Veronica asked as she started to pace the room. “Because I wouldn't go to a Remington party and sleep with a college guy. It doesn't matter to her that I have a boyfriend or that I'm not interested in screwing anything that walks and has a dick between his legs. No, she lets herself get used by that creep David, who just wants sex, and she pushes her friends to go to those parties and have sex just so she looks cool. She even had Heather McNamara do it, and she's supposedly dating an 'acceptable' guy in Ram Sweeney.”

Nora shook her head. “That's fucked up.”

“I should never have joined the Heathers. I thought it would make my life better, but it hasn't. It's going to cost me everything that matters. It already cost me Betty's friendship, and now it's going to cost me JD. I can't lose him.”

“You don't think you're being a little over-dramatic here?” Nora asked. “I mean, sure, it feels like love now, but if it's really love, he'll stick with you no matter what she does and—”

“No. It's not that I think he's abandoning me,” Veronica said. “He's still suspended, and he has to work. He's also got... a lot of other problems to deal with.”

“He's the life and death person you needed that book for.”

“Yes.”

“Is he also the kid who wrote in to Hard Harry about the abuse?”

Veronica shook her head. “I don't think he'd ever write into anyone.”

“But he is being abused.”

Veronica stopped at the sink, running the water and splashing it on her face. “Look, I know you don't think much of me, and I don't even know why I told you that—”

“I seem to be the kind of person people tell all kinds of stuff to,” Nora said, thinking of Betty and Martha. She also knew she should be heading out to eat lunch with them, but if she left now, she knew what she'd be doing. She'd be hunting for Hard Harry on the steps, looking for a kid sitting alone with a book. “Not sure why.”

Veronica laughed a little. “It's sad, but you've been nicer to me in the last few minutes than my supposed friends have been in a month. No, I suppose I'm glad it's over. I just... I wish I could make Heather pay for this. For everything.”

She shut off the water and walked out of the bathroom. Nora didn't try and stop her. That girl was straight up scary like that, and Nora didn't need that kind of trouble.

Especially when she was planning on finding some of her own.

* * *

Mark sat down on the steps, taking out his book and opening it, needing something to keep him busy while he waited for JD. He could have tried to find Veronica, he supposed, knowing she was having a rough day just from the stuff he was hearing in class, but he didn't know what he'd say, and he didn't think he wanted to risk yesterday repeating itself even if Veronica knew him now.

He tried to concentrate on the words on the page, but his mind kept going back to the papers in his backpack that proved he wasn't really the son of Brian and Marla Hunter. He wasn't sure what that made him, but it didn't seem like it could be anything good, not if it meant he was the son of Big Bud Dean. He'd seen those commercials. That guy looked deranged on them, and how was it no one saw what he was doing to his son?

He shook his head and reread the same page over again. He was a decent reader most days, fairly fast and usually able to get pretty lost in what he was reading, but nothing was working today. It wasn't just the adoption.

He knew he should have handled that thing with Serious better. He had let that kid down. He'd made a whole fake letter to reach JD, but he'd almost blown that kid off, and he hadn't said the most important thing he should have said. _Don't Do It._ He should have screamed that.

He hadn't.

And he'd hate himself forever for that. He really hoped that kid was faking it.

He forced his eyes back on the book and managed to get through a whole page before he was distracted again, this time when a shadow darkened the words.

“You got a stick of gum?” A girl, that same girl from his writing class and the library, the one who always seemed to wear dark dresses, took the package he had sitting on his lap and read off the label. “'Blackjack.'”

He figured that was a little obvious, though he still cursed JD for being late. He needed to get out of here, and while he could walk, he didn't know where JD lived and didn't want to risk meeting his—their?—dad.

“You really as horny as a ten-peckered owl?”

Mark gaped at her, swallowing. She couldn't know. That wasn't possible. No one knew. His parents didn't know. JD didn't know. She couldn't know.

“Hi. My name's Nora,” she said, smiling at him, apparently enjoying his discomfort. “What's yours?”

He struggled, and despite how well he seemed to do with JD most of the time, he could barely get his own voice out today as a squeak. “Mark.”

“Well, hi, Mark,” she said with a bit of a smirk. “Listen, I was gonna cut fourth period. You want to join me for a smoke in the art supply room?”

He didn't know why she thought he'd want to do that. He swore he hadn't smoked on campus other than yesterday, and he'd been standing behind JD and later Veronica at the time.

Speaking of JD, Mark heard the bike and was beyond relieved, even if he knew they could be going to get themselves in real trouble. “No, I can't. I gotta go. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” 

He ignored her as he hurried over to where the bike had stopped. “You're late.”

“I had to work a full four hours before I could leave.”

“Fine. Let's just go.”

“What, scared that girl has cooties?”

Mark groaned, not able to come up with a decent answer to that. “It's not—can we just find out if you're adopted now? I don't know how much more of this I can take.”

“Sure thing, Marky boy. Hop on.”

* * *

“You wait here,” JD told Mark. “If anyone comes by, yell and run for the back where I parked the bike. Don't stay. Don't think you can talk your way out of it. He doesn't negotiate. He doesn't accept pleading or begging. He will be angry, and he won't stop.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out on my own.”

JD grimaced. The destruction was all over the place. He was driving his father insane by staying away, and somehow the man hadn't managed to find him. Probably because the bastard knew nothing about him, but he also would have assumed what JD had—that he had no one here, nowhere to stay, no way to be safe. He would be looking for the bike, but there was a good way to hide it at Veronica's so her parents had yet to see it after all the nights they'd spent together, and he kept it as hidden as he could at his new job, too. School was about the only place Bud had to look for him, and JD wasn't spending much time there.

Still... that could end up bad for Mark, and they had to do something about it, since Bud had wrecked just about everything that was even just tied to JD.

He picked up the broken frame with his mother's picture. “I'm going into his office. Remember, yell and run.”

“I'm not an idiot,” Mark said. “Go find those papers. This place gives me the creeps.”

JD nodded. He didn't like it much, either, and the beatings here weren't as bad as some of the others he'd lived through.

He shook that off, heading into his father's office. He didn't know where Bud would keep that kind of stuff. He had a safe, but JD doubted that any papers about him were that important to the man. He had money in there, for bribes and stuff, and his guns and other stuff for the business, but JD's birth certificate? He wasn't even sure it existed.

He shook his head and started going through all the drawers, first in the desk, then in the filing cabinet. He went as fast as he could, slowed by the many legal documents for Bud's business that were in random files everywhere, but he kept on going until he was out of files.

He swore, looking around the office. There had to be somewhere else his father would have papers that mattered. Not everything here was organized, but all of that stuff for the business was new, within the last six months, so anything older had to be somewhere else.

Probably in a damned box, and it wasn't like Bud labeled the ones he packed.

Then again, JD packed most of them. It was part of his punishment. Anything that got left behind came out of JD's hide when they were done moving.

He swallowed. If he hadn't packed it, his father had, and it wouldn't be labeled, so that narrowed things down some. Most of those boxes were actually not far from where Mark was watching for any sign of Bud's return.

He walked out to the front room, sitting down and starting with the first unmarked box. “How'd you get into your father's safe?”

“He's not my father,” Mark said bleakly. Then he lowered his head. “He had a paper with the combination taped to the underside of a drawer in his desk. Why?”

“I didn't find anything in the open. I've got to hope that it's in one of these boxes he packed—I know it's not in the stuff I did, and I'm responsible for most of it. He likes using me for manual labor and hurting me if I don't get enough done.”

“Are you... enjoying telling me that kind of stuff?”

“No,” JD admitted, dragging a stack of files out of the box. “I don't even know why I am. I stopped trying to tell most people about this when was fourteen. Since I've been here, though, I told you and Veronica and I don't know why.”

“I guessed,” Mark reminded him. “And I think you were thinking with a different part of your anatomy when it came to her.”

“That's not all it is between us.”

“I didn't say it was. I'm just saying... you got stupid in front of a pretty girl. It happens to all of us.”

“Like you and that one you ran from today?” JD asked, shoving that stack away and going for another. Damn it, why was it so hard to find one little paper?

“That was different.”

“What, you don't like girls? That would be... um... well, weird. Not that I couldn't accept my brother being... well... but you and I look alike, and if someone mistook me for you, like Veronica did, I would not be very happy about it because I'm definitely not into guys.”

“There is something in your voice that makes me want to ask you about that and also makes me afraid to at the same time,” Mark told him. “And no, it's not that. I like girls just fine. I didn't make a move on yours, but I... I can't make a move on anyone. I can't even talk to them. I think I stuttered a 'hi' at Paige Woodward once. She looked at me like I was a freak. And I am one. I lock up, tense up, and I can't talk to anyone. I don't even know why I'm able to say as much to you as I am.”

“Maybe it's like talking to a mirror.”

“That's insane.”

“Yeah.” JD left the papers on the floor, not caring about putting them back. He wouldn't mind setting Bud off again. Maybe someone would see just how unhinged he really was. He reached into the second box and found a box inside it, this one decorative, with floral arrangements and inspirational words all over it. “The hell?”

Mark looked back at him. “Let me guess—that was your mother's.”

“Bud trashed everything she had, or I thought he did,” JD said, opening up the box and flipping through it. He found pictures of himself as a toddler, walking around, and his old pacifier. Great. He kept rummaging, and there on the bottom was a folded sheet of paper with a border that seemed familiar. He took it out. “Well, according to this, I'm the son of Bud and Patricia Dean.”

“Mine says the same thing... I mean, it says my parents are supposed to be my parents. I'd bet they issue a new birth certificate with the adoptive parents named as parents when they do the adoption.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” JD muttered, rummaging through the box again. He took out a folded set of papers, straightening them out. “Shit.”

Mark left the door to come to his side. “Does that say what I think it says?”

JD nodded. “Yeah, except mine's from Texas and yours isn't.”

“And your birth certificate—”

“Also from Texas. Yours was from Massachusetts,” JD said. “What the fuck does this mean?”

Mark let out a breath. “We have to talk to my parents.”

“Yeah,” JD said. He put the papers back in the floral box and held it out to Mark. “Take this. Put it in your bag. We need to keep them safe for when we have that chat, and we've been here for way too long."

Mark held out a hand to him. “Let's go.”

* * *

“I thought you were under house arrest.”

“I am, but I left before they could pick me up,” Veronica said, moving away from Mark's door to where JD stood. She crossed over to him and held on tight, not willing to let go for anything, not right now. “I panicked when I couldn't find Mark. I didn't know if Bud had or something else had gone really wrong, but you weren't there and he wasn't there and... and at first they didn't mention names, only that a student was badly hurt, and I was so worried...”

JD pushed her back, looking at her with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't look at me. There was talk going around about... well, about Veronica and how much of a slut she is, but I didn't hear anything about anyone getting hurt, not before I left with you,” Mark said. He looked around, nervous. “I think we should go inside.”

JD nodded, nudging Veronica toward the door. Mark took the chair at his desk, leaving the couch for the two of them. She stood there, looking at both of them again, glad to see they were both alive and fine, even if she could see an ugly bruise peeking out under Mark's sleeve. JD tugged her down next to him, wrapping an arm around her.

“What did they tell you?”

She swallowed. “It must have been during my first class after lunch. The teacher said she had to make an announcement, that a student had been hurt. At first everyone was confused and wanting details, and I didn't know why.”

“Fuck,” Mark whispered. “I do. Oh, God, I do. This is all my fault.”

Veronica frowned, completely confused. “What do you mean, it's your fault?”

“That kid. He did it. He committed suicide. I didn't stop him. I knew... and I didn't stop him.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark panics, JD steps in, and things get awkward all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I knew that the radio show could swing things with JD and Veronica either way off the deep end or maybe into a positive thing where no killing was necessary. Is it really Heathers if no one dies? Is it Pump Up the Volume if the suicide doesn't get the show under fire and the FCC called in?
> 
> That really isn't something I know, and even as the story goes on, I still don't have an answer for that.

* * *

“What?” JD asked, confused. Not that he really knew much of Mark, but from what his parents said and what he'd seen so far, the kid didn't have much of anything in the way of friends, and if he did, they would have butted in on this by now. Should have, at least, with Mark beat up the way he was and hurting. Why wasn't anyone else watching over him?

Because there wasn't anyone.

So how the hell did Mark know this kid that committed suicide?

“Is he in one of your classes?” Veronica asked. “Who is it?”

“You don't know?” JD looked at her. If they'd made an announcement, she should know. 

“They didn't give us names, or hadn't when I left school looking for the two of you,” Veronica said, shivering. He pulled her close to him again, rubbing a hand over her back to warm her.

“I don't know who he is,” Mark said, and that just made things a hell of a lot weirder. How did Mark know this kid was going to commit suicide if he didn't know who the hell he was? No one who thought about that stuff just told it to a random stranger.

“You have to,” Veronica said, frowning as much as JD was. “Don't you?”

“Yeah, I kind of think he does,” JD agreed. “Look, it's not your fault. Someone decides to do that, they're gonna do it whether you do anything or not. Believe me, if someone wants it badly enough, they'll make sure it happens.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mark asked. “And how do you know so much about it? It's not like you did it. You're still here.”

JD wouldn't have wanted to be, not a few days ago, before he found Veronica and Mark and had his father beating on him, with no hope of a way out before he turned eighteen, which seemed less and less likely by the day, either at his father's hands or his own.

“Your mom?” Veronica asked, and he stared at her, both amazed and horrified by her perception. How the hell had she known? How could she know? Why did she have to say it? He didn't want to think about that, didn't want anyone to know.

“Oh, God,” Mark whispered. “I can't—I don't—I'm sorry. I can't do this. I can't breathe. I'm going to be sick. I have to—I have to get out of here.”

“Mark,” JD said, but the other boy ran out of the door before he could untangle himself from Veronica.

“Mark?” his mom asked, knocking on the door and trying the knob. “Mark, we need to talk to you. We heard about what happened at school, and we want to talk to you.”

“Shit,” JD muttered, and Veronica started back toward the sliding doors.

“We know you're in there. If I have to get my key—”

“I'll be up in a minute,” JD called back, shaking his head at himself as he started to shed his jacket. He went to Veronica, taking hold of her shoulders. “Go see if you can find Mark. I'll hold off his parents for a minute.”

“JD—”

“Please,” he said, shoving her toward the door. “Just get him back here before he does something stupid—or worse, my dad sees him. After today, he's really going to be pissed. Please, Veronica.”

“You are related, aren't you?”

“I think we're really brothers, yeah,” he said, giving her another push. “And I know we still have to deal with your parents, but we'll get to that. Just don't let him get hurt again.”

Veronica nodded, slipping out and running after Mark. JD grabbed a hat and put it on his head, going over to open the door. Great. Both of Mark's parents were waiting there, and neither one of them looked happy. How much of that had they heard?

“Was there someone in your room just now?”

He shook his head. “Talking to the lizard.”

His mother shuddered. “I really wish you hadn't decided you wanted a lizard. Of all things...”

“Marla, it's not going to get out and kill anyone. It eats bugs,” Mark's dad said. “We've had this conversation before. The lizard is fine. It's not a threat.”

She made a face again, and JD wondered just what she'd think of Slushie as he followed them up the stairs.

* * *

Mark didn't really know where he was going when he left his house. All he knew was he couldn't stay in there a moment longer. They were two feet from his radio equipment, and he probably would have had to tell them all about it, but then Veronica had asked if JD's mother had killed herself, and it was just too much.

He knew it shouldn't have been. The idea of her being willing to die to escape the environment that JD was trapped in, the one that seemed to linger over their house even when Bud wasn't home, that shouldn't have been any kind of surprise. It was hell there, and any sane person would want out.

Mark just didn't know how a mother could take her own life and abandon her son to her husband like that. Maybe he was giving his own mother too much credit, her and her old semi-rebellious ways from the sixties, but he'd like to think if his dad was scum, she'd stand up to him and leave with Mark, not kill herself and leave him behind.

And that kid last night. Serious. He'd done it. He'd killed himself.

Mark hadn't stopped him. He hadn't done much of anything to talk him out of it. He'd been too focused on his own pain, on finding out that he was adopted and having that person pull a prank on him just before... he'd been frustrated and a bit embarrassed, and Hard Harry didn't react well to that. He acted like he was above it, that nothing bothered him, but the reality was that he overreacted as Harry. Where Mark did nothing, Harry did too much. He was loud and arrogant, all the things Mark wasn't, and that was the problem.

Mark had been too proud, speaking as Harry. He hadn't done what he should have.

He stopped, looking around in confusion. He'd been so focused on getting away, he hadn't realized how far he'd gotten or where he was going, but some part of him must have had a plan in mind, because he was across the street from the mail supply store where his rented box was.

He grimaced. He knew that he had to do something, but he didn't know what that was. One last broadcast, an apology, and he was done. He'd close down the box, no forwarding address, and be done with it—and Hard Harry—for good.

He picked up a form on closing the account, knowing he wasn't going to hand it in now, not when he'd be seen. He'd drop it in the mail later, collect the last bit of the mail that was already here, take it home and... burn it. Yeah, that was the only thing to do, wasn't it?

He unlocked the box and took out the envelopes and package. A new record he'd ordered a few weeks back had finally come, one he knew his parents wouldn't approve of, so he'd had it sent here instead of the house. He could keep that, and it was a good thing it had come now since he wouldn't have to worry about anything else in the box.

Though... he had a red envelope in hand. A part of him wanted to open it. Sometimes he thought the Eat Me, Beat Me lady was as close to a relationship as he was ever going to get. He wanted to tell himself it would get better, but he couldn't talk to anyone outside his family—and calling his parents that now seemed like a bit of a stretch, but he was almost certain JD was his brother. He needed to see that birth certificate, but it was only confirmation of something they both seemed to know a lot sooner than they'd acknowledged.

Mark shook his head. He had to get back. He'd been a fool, and he knew he didn't want to tell anyone about Harry, about what he'd done and the mistake he'd made, but he would have to end it and he had to talk to his parents about the adoption and JD.

And he had to talk to his brother, because he was sure JD was headed for a dark place, had been since he first saw that gun. Veronica was part of what held him back, but if her parents stuck to this idea of keeping them apart...

Mark didn't want to think about it.

“So, you are him,” a voice said, and Mark looked up to see that girl from earlier in front of him again. He swallowed, ducking his head and trying to walk away from her. She fell into step with him. “Don't worry. I'm not going to bust you or anything.”

He didn't know why she thought he'd be relieved about that. No one was supposed to know about this. He hadn't told anyone, and he wouldn't. He was done. Today he was done.

“Aren't you going to ask who I am?”

“No, I don't think so,” he said, trying to quicken his pace so she'd leave him alone. She'd introduced herself before, but he didn't want to talk to her, and he wasn't going to say anything else. He had to get back home and get rid of everything related to Hard Harry besides his music. “No.”

“I'm the Eat Me, Beat Me lady,” she told him, and he stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and continuing to walk away.

He was never going to meet that person, and even if he did, the whole thing was fake, so why did it matter? The letter was going to be burned with everything else, and he was done.

“You don't believe me?” she asked, sounding hurt. She picked up the letter, still unopened in its envelope. “'I know you—not your name, but your game. I know the true you. Come to me, or I'll come to you.'”

And here she was, right in his face. Damn.

“Open it up and read it if you don't believe me,” she said. “I dare you to.”

He shook his head. He wasn't doing that here. He knew better than to read any of her letters in public—not that she actually was that person, not poetry lady. He wasn't going to fall for that. He had admitted nothing, and he would admit nothing.

“Hey, relax. I'm not really like that,” she said, and then she grinned, “except when I am.”

“Look, I really can't handle this right now, okay?” he said, not sure how he'd managed to have a voice for that at all.

“It's not your fault,” she said, reaching out to stop him, touching one of the bruises on his arm. He hissed in pain and pulled away from her, taking off running and trying to shut out her voice behind him.

“I was listening last night. I didn't think he'd go through with it.”

* * *

“There you are,” Veronica said, wanting to hug Mark in relief but figuring that would go over badly if she did, and she didn't know all of where he was hurt, either, so she didn't dare. This was awkward, though, because boyfriend's brother or not, he looked a lot like JD and she had kissed him yesterday.

“You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, your parents showed up a second after you cut out the door, and JD went to hold them off, but he was afraid you'd do something stupid or end up hurt by his dad.”

“Bit ironic,” Mark muttered, and she frowned at him. He shook his head. “Just forget it. Let's get back before someone sees us.”

“Yes, because you can't afford to be seen with a social pariah.”

Mark gave her a look. “That's not it. I don't care what Heather said you did. I know you didn't. I think you mostly did the right thing going with JD. Just... probably should have made sure you were home on time, that's all.”

“If I'd been home on time, I'd have been home in time for the party,” Veronica said, knowing full well why they hadn't made it back for curfew. Heather was a big hypocrite, and so were her parents. They'd have let Veronica go to that party with Heather because she had them fooled, but they were judging JD without knowing anything about him.

“That makes no sense.”

“What, that my parents would bend the rules for Heather but not for a boy?”

“Okay, no, that does make sense. Forget I said anything.”

“Are you okay? You are way jittery, and you keep looking behind you like you're expecting someone to be there,” Veronica said, doing some looking of her own, but she didn't see anyone. “Is this about Kurt or Ram? Or is it Bud?”

Mark paled. “I'd forgotten about him.”

“Kind of hard to do, at least for me, and since you look almost exactly like JD, I think it would be hard for you, too. He'd probably hurt you if he had half a chance—unless you don't believe that JD's telling the truth about that.”

Mark shook his head. “It's not that.”

“The kid you knew, the one that you think killed himself, but you don't know his name. Did you go to see him?”

“No. I couldn't. I didn't get a name or anything. Just...”

“Just what?”

“You two were too far away last night to listen to Hard Harry, weren't you?”

Veronica nodded. “I think we both would have liked to, since JD find Hard Harry one of the only good things about Sherwood, and I've been hooked almost since the beginning. He reminds me a bit of me before I found the Heathers. I used to think those things, say those things... and then one fake hall pass and I'm in with the cool kids and losing my soul. Not that I could masturbate on air or would say half the stuff he does—and I don't like all of the music—but the hatred of Westerburg? Definitely. Even more so now that I pissed Heather off and she's telling everyone I'm an evil slut when the irony of it is that I was avoiding being a slut... This is so stupid.”

“It'll be easier tomorrow,” Mark told her. “JD's suspension will be over, and you won't be alone.”

“Better for me, maybe,” Veronica said. “I'm not so sure Kurt and Ram will leave him alone when he gets back, and that could mean more trouble for you, too.”

Mark looked away, not saying anything to that, and she figured that worried him, too.

* * *

“So, wait... this kid didn't actually kill himself?” JD asked, frowning. Mark seemed so sure of that, and he'd assumed that was the case as Mark's parents stumbled through their speeches about terrible tragedies. Only what Mark's mom said didn't fit with that.

“It was clearly his intention,” Mrs. Hunter said, reaching for his hand, and it took all of JD's will not to jerk it back out of her grasp. His mother was dead, and he wasn't used to that sort of thing after all this time. “It would seem he either hesitated or something distracted him at the last second, and when the bullet hit, it wasn't instantly fatal. There's still a good chance he won't wake up from his coma or if he does, he'll have brain damage, but he's alive. For now.”

JD swallowed. That would be a relief for Mark, wouldn't it? “Then he's okay, and we don't need to have this chat.”

“You need to eat, so you may as well stay right there,” Mark's mother said. “And no, this conversation is not over.”

“Your mother and I have been talking,” Mark's father went on, “and I guess we realized that—”

“Mark, basically, we thought,” his mom seemed to get all the hard to say things, “that you might benefit from seeing a psychiatrist.”

JD stared at her, trying to come up with some kind of response to that. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, honey, of course not,” she told him, again reaching for his hand, which he did pull away. “We think you're perfect. It just seems that here you're so sad and lonely all the time.”

“And we want you to feel good about yourself,” Mark's dad added less than helpfully. These people seriously had no clue.

“You have friends in New York, hon,” his mom went on. “Are you trying to meet people here at all? I know this sounds stupid, but have you ever just walked up to a girl here and said 'hi?'”

JD wasn't sure Mark had, truth be told, though he'd proved he could talk to Veronica, if not that girl from school. He was about to answer when he heard something crash downstairs. “Shit, that damned lizard.”

“Mark, what did I say about language?” Mr. Hunter asked, but JD didn't bother to answer as he ran back down to Mark's room, hoping that noise was what he thought it was.

He opened the door, stepping inside and shutting it behind him in relief. “You're lucky it was me and not one of them who got down here first.”

Mark snorted. “Like they'd bother to come in here.”

“I have good news for you,” JD began, but then before he could tell Mark about the kid not dying, there was another knock on the door.

“Mark, we are not finished,” his father said, and Mark winced. JD reached over and put the hat on his head.

“What do you think you're—”

“Shh,” JD said in his ear. “I've had about as much of their lecture as I can take, and I've got to get Veronica home before they do more than ground her and bar us from seeing each other again before school's out. I'll be back later. I'm sure they'll be more watchful over her tonight, which means no sleepover for me... I've got nowhere to go, so...”

Mark nodded. “I understand.”

“You had better not be talking to your lizard again,” Mark's father said through the door, and he frowned, but JD just shook his head, going to collect Veronica.

* * *

Nora took her paper, unfolding it and grimacing when she saw the page she'd marked on earlier. She shouldn't have dismissed Mr. Quiet before. Now she didn't have a decent picture of Harry's face.

Harry.

Happy Harry Hard-on was none other than quiet Mark Hunter, the good writer in her class, the one who read Lenny Bruce and couldn't explain who he was. She had seen little signs, but she'd ignored them until she found him at lunch. He'd basically denied it then, even if he hadn't said anything. And then he'd gone off with Veronica's boyfriend on his motorcycle.

And that was the other thing. Mark Hunter was at least one part of Hard Harry, but was he the only one? Or was the rebellious new guy part of it, too? Maybe they were a team, opposites as they seemed to be, even if they looked alike.

She sat down, wishing he had opened up her letter and seen the truth for himself. She was the Eat Me, Beat Me Lady, and just as he'd said he felt he knew her, she felt like she knew him. She wanted to know him. She'd love to know a lot more about shy Mark Hunter as well as Hard Harry and even Jason Dean.

Well, maybe she couldn't manage the first two, but she did know a way she could get at the third, and Veronica Sawyer just might be glad of a bit of kindness right now, even if it came with a few ulterior motives.

Besides, there had to be some way of telling Hard Harry he wasn't to blame for what Malcolm Kaiser had done, and it was either use Jason's girlfriend to get closer or ask Betty the realtor's daughter for his address, and Nora didn't have a good excuse for needing it.

Sure, she could just say she liked Mark, but she didn't want to, and Betty wasn't an idiot. The only interest in boys Nora had shown in her presence was in Hard Harry, and if she suddenly asked for a boy's address, Betty might think Nora had connected Mark to Harry, and she'd promised him she wasn't going to rat him out.

No, she wouldn't let anyone—not even Betty—know what she'd figured out, but she would find out more about Mark—or at least Jason—from Veronica.

* * *

Mark shut the door behind him, shaking his head in frustration. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard from his parents. They wanted him to see a shrink so he didn't end up like Malcolm. That was the kid's name. They thought they could spare him that boy's fate if he just talked to someone. He wanted to hate them for it. If he needed a shrink, it was because of them. They'd dragged him here, away from everyone and everything he'd ever known. This place sucked, but even if it didn't, they'd still done enough damage, hadn't they? They'd lied to him, and he was adopted, and they'd never told him the truth. He'd found it out when he was beaten for looking like his twin.

He forced himself away from the door, going his backpack. He opened it up and took out his envelope and the box from JD's house. He took out his birth certificate and set it on the desk before opening the box. JD's adoption decree was on the top of things, and underneath it, the birth certificate. JD's was from Texas, as he'd said, though he hadn't kept that accent any more than Mark had a Boston one. One thing they did have in common was the date.

They'd been born on the same day.

They were twins.

Shit.

Mark set the papers aside, knowing he'd go back to them later. JD would be here, though hopefully after his last broadcast as Hard Harry was done. He had an apology to make, and then it was all over.

He picked up the red envelope, deciding he'd go ahead and read it before burning it with all the others. His dreams of the Eat Me, Beat Me Lady would die tonight as well.

_You're the voice crying out in the wilderness. You're the voice that makes my brain burn and my guts go gooey. Yeah, you gut me. My insides spill on your altar and tell the future. My steaming, gleaming guts spell out your nature. I know you—not your name, but your game. I know the true you. Come to me, or I'll come to you._

Mark gagged. That last part, that was what Nora had said to him earlier. She was the Eat Me, Beat Me Lady. And she knew who he was.

He shook his head. It didn't matter. He was done. He swore it. She could try and do something about it all she wanted, but he was done.

He looked over at the record player. It was just about time, and he knew what he was going to do. He took out his new record, another by Leonard Cohen, and put it on.

_If it be your will that I speak no more, and my voice be still as it was before, I will speak no more. I shall abide until I am spoken for. If it be your will..._

“You see, I never planned it like this,” Mark began, swallowing and continuing on in spite of his guilt. He had to do this. He had no choice. One last broadcast, and he was done. “My dumb dad got me this shortwave radio set so I could just speak to my friends back east. But I couldn't reach anybody, so I just thought I was talking to nobody. I imagine nobody listening. Maybe I imagine that one person out there... Anyway, one day I woke up, and I realized I was never going to be normal, so I said, 'Fuck it.' I said, 'So be it,' and Happy Harry Hard-on was born. But I never meant to hurt anyone. Honestly. I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm sorry, Malcolm. I never said 'don't do it.'”

Mark closed his eyes, blinking back tears. He'd screwed up, and he knew it. He couldn't ever make this better, and he had no idea what he was going to do about JD, who wasn't that far from Malcolm or doing something worse—like killing someone with that gun. Mark didn't want to think about what he might do to Bud or Veronica's parents or even Ram and Kurt. 

“I'm sorry,” Mark repeated. That wasn't just for Malcolm. It was for all of them, anyone stupid enough to listen to him and think he had good advice. He didn't. He didn't know anything at all.

“Anyway, that's it. The show's over. I'm done. Stick a fork in me. It's been grand. This is Hard Harry saying _sayonara._ Over and out.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark goes on air after Malcolm's suicide attempt, and things get crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this got long. And was intimidating because it's a very big part in the movie, and doing it justice is hard.
> 
> And I ended up having one moment that was going to be delayed for later happen now, and yeah... that complicated things.

* * *

Nora reached over and knocked on the door, feeling stupid. She could have waited, probably _should_ have waited, but the thing was, she didn't want to wait any longer. She'd been working on figuring out who Hard Harry was since he started broadcasting, and the idea of knowing and not doing anything about it was just not her. She had to know more, and really, how could she _not_ look into the fact that Hard Harry—who was almost certainly Mark Hunter—had a twin?

No, she couldn't wait until school tomorrow to find out about that, much as she tried to tell herself that all the way over to the Sawyer house, so she'd come anyway, against all sense and better judgment.

The door opened, and a woman frowned out at her. “Can I help you?”

“Um,” Nora began. “I'm looking for Veronica. We were working on a project earlier, and I needed to ask her about—”

“You two were working on a project together?”

Nora nodded, knowing she had to stick to her lie. The woman waved her in, shutting the door behind her as she led her back into the other room.

“Veronica, you said you were working on a project this afternoon? At another student's house that was not this boy we forbid you to see,” the woman began, looking over at Veronica, who was sitting in her chair with an expression on her face that suggested she would gladly kill both of her parents.

“Yes, that's what I said, and I know you don't believe me, so can I just go to my room already?”

“No, you cannot,” the man Nora assumed was Veronica's father said. “We are not finished with this conversation. I told you I thought the ladder had been moved and—who are you?”

Nora forced a smile. “Hi, I'm Nora.”

“She was the one at the door. She said that she and Veronica were working on a project.”

Veronica frowned for a second before nodding. “That's right. We were. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn't listen. And we weren't finished, so if you don't mind, Nora and I are going to go up to my room now and finish things, okay? Good.”

Nora gave them both a forced smile before Veronica grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs. She tugged her along, and Nora knew she was making a mistake, but then she'd known that before she came here.

Veronica pushed her forward down the hall and all the way into her room, shutting the door behind her. She went to the window and swore.

Nora frowned, but it made even less sense when Veronica came back and hugged her.

“Thank you,” she said. “God, they were about to ground me for life and find me a private school to send me off to if you hadn't shown up when you did.”

“Seriously?”

Veronica nodded. “Heather told them my boyfriend is Charles Manson, and they're determined not to let me see JD, and since I panicked when I heard that a kid got hurt and wasn't there for them to pick up after school, they figured I was with him and have to be sent off since I'm obviously not going to listen to their rules.”

“One slip up and it's off to boarding school?”

“Heather came over and had another chat with them while I was gone,” Veronica said, shaking her head in frustration. “She came up with all these lies—JD was at the school for months, but he hid who he was and came back as a 'rebel,' his father's got a demolition company so he's destructive and will blow up the school, he must have abducted me... All kinds of crap like that.”

“Well, if she mistook JD for Mark Hunter, then at least part of that makes sense, and I've seen those commercials with the freak who blows up buildings—”

“That is JD's psychopath of a father, yes.”

Nora winced. She could see that guy as someone who'd abuse his son. He looked deranged on those commercials. And if Veronica's parents saw that, then they'd probably assume his son was just as bad—and it wasn't like he hadn't fought with Kurt and Ram, but damn, that was ridiculous.

“Your parents are really overreacting, and since when does Heather have that much power?”

Veronica shook her head, sitting down on her bed. “I don't know. I'd like to think she didn't, or that it was just limited to the school, but she's got my parents completely fooled, and I can't get them to change their minds about any of this. They won't listen to anything I say about JD, and even when I tried to tell them there was a kid hurt at school—”

“Malcolm Kaiser. He tried to kill himself, but he didn't,” Nora said. She wasn't sure that was enough of a consolation for Harry, though, which was another reason she wanted to find Mark.

“Oh. Mark will be relieved. He was afraid that was his fault.”

“I tried to tell him that it wasn't, but he wasn't willing to listen to me, even after I told him who I was,” Nora said, shaking her head. She found it hard to believe that Mark had admitted he was Hard Harry to Veronica, that he'd even _spoken_ to her. “So... the twins... do they trade off all the time or what?”

Veronica frowned. “Trade off? Like, what, I've supposedly been with both of them because I'm a giant slut or something?”

Nora shook her head. “No, and you're letting Heather get to you too much. Fuck her, okay? She's just pissed she's not getting her way, so whatever. I meant... are they both a part of this thing or not? Have they been trading places for a while?”

“Um... JD said he'd taken Mark's place with his parents a couple times since they met. Today, in fact, because Mark panicked when I told him about the kid at school and we got on the subject of JD's mom and Mark seemed really overwhelmed by everything, but as far as I know, that's it. Well, and I did actually mistake Mark for JD once which was very, very awkward, but had I known there were two of them, it never would have happened.”

Nora looked at her. “You didn't know there were two of them?”

Veronica folded her arms over her chest, getting defensive. “I actually don't have classes with either of them, okay? And as far as I can tell, they don't have classes together, or the whole school would know and Ram and Kurt wouldn't have jumped Mark thinking he was JD.”

“They did what?”

“Monday, after school, they attacked Mark at the convenience store. JD scared them off, and that was how they actually met.”

Nora shook her head. That was it. The broadcast Monday night. It was Mark, and he wasn't just saying he hurt that night. He'd been in real pain. Wait. If that letter was—had Mark made up that letter, or was that something JD actually said to him?

And what was that about them just meeting? They were twins, right? How could they be twins and strangers at the same time?

“It did happen. I saw at least some of the bruises.”

“I don't doubt you. It happened.” Nora had more proof that Mark was Hard Harry now, but she didn't know what to do with it. “It's just... I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of them somehow not knowing they're related.”

“JD's theory was that at least one of them was adopted, but I don't know if that's true or not.”

“I think Mark might be,” Nora said, thinking back to the odd and angry way Harry had started his broadcast the night before, raging against his parents, saying everything was a lie. If he was adopted and they hadn't told him, he'd certainly think so, wouldn't he? And when he'd talked to Serious, he'd said he was alone and his parents screwed him over. It all fit.

“How well do you know Mark?”

“Not that well,” Nora said. She checked her watch. “Shit. It's after ten. You got a radio around here?”

Veronica reached across the bed, turning it on. The last part of Leonard Cohen's _If It Be Your Will_ came over the air, followed by Hard Harry's voice. 

“You see, I never planned it like this. My dumb dad got me this shortwave radio set so I could just speak to my friends back east. But I couldn't reach anybody, so I just thought I was talking to nobody. I imagined nobody listening. Maybe I imagine that one person out there... Anyway, one day I woke up, and I realized I was never going to be normal, so I said, 'Fuck it.' I said, 'So be it,' and Happy Harry Hard-on was born. But I never meant to hurt anyone. Honestly. I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm sorry, Malcolm. I never said 'don't do it.'”

“He doesn't know, does he? That Malcolm is still alive?”

Nora shrugged. She didn't know for sure, but it almost sounded like he didn't.

“Anyway, that's it. The show's over. I'm done. Stick a fork in me. It's been grand. This is Hard Harry saying _sayonara._ Over and out.”

“What?” Veronica said. “No. He can't do this. It's a joke, right?”

Nora didn't think it was, but she knew how they could do something about it. “Do you know where Mark lives?”

* * *

Mark paced his room, agitated. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd said one broadcast and after that he was done. He'd said he wasn't doing more. He'd apologized. He'd said what needed to be said, and he was done. It was all over. It had to be over. He couldn't do more of this. He'd screwed it up so badly, and who was he to give anyone advice?

His life was falling apart. He'd been beaten. He'd found a twin he never knew he had. He'd learned that he was adopted—and so was his twin. His twin's father was an abusive asshole, and his twin was at least half-insane because he'd been abused and his mother committed suicide. He still couldn't talk to his parents, couldn't talk to a girl—though a girl _had_ figured out he was Hard Harry and now he didn't know what he was going to do about that.

It was better if this was just over, all of it.

Suicide actually sounded really appealing about now, and it wasn't just JD Mark was worried about. He didn't know how to cope with this.

“What am I doing?”

He heard JD's hamster in its wheel, and he wondered if the other boy had fed it or watered it today. He had no idea. This whole thing was such a mess.

And someone had to do something. 

“Fuck it.”

Mark knew it was stupid. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he knew he could say more. More than what he'd said to Malcolm, maybe the more that other people needed, the more that _he_ needed. He picked up the mic and flipped back on the broadcast.

“You hear about some kid, did something stupid—something desperate. What possessed him? How could he do such a terrible thing?” Mark asked, walking around his room as he spoke. “Well, it's really quite simple, actually. Consider the life of a teenager: You have parents and teachers telling you what to do. You have movies, magazines, and tv telling you what to do, but you know what you have to do. Your job, your purpose is to get accepted, get a cute girlfriend, think up something great to do for the rest of your life.”

His parents thought so. They were still on the girlfriend thing, but they'd added him becoming some kind of famous author now, too, thanks to his English teacher telling his parents he was a good writer who needed to focus.

“What if you're confused and can't imagine a career? What if you're funny-looking and can't get a girlfriend?” Mark knew no one would answer, but he almost wanted one from somewhere. “You see, no one wants to hear it, but the terrible secret is that being young is sometimes less fun than being dead.”

He knew of at least one other person—two—that would agree with him. Malcolm, who'd shot himself, and his brother, who had a gun.

“Suicide is wrong, but the interesting thing about it is how uncomplicated it seems, you know?” Mark shook his head. “There you are, you got all these problems swarming around in your brain, and here is one simple—one incredibly simple solution. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen every day around here.”

He really was. Sherwood, Ohio was like hell on earth sometimes, and Westerburg was almost intolerable. Why more kids didn't take their own lives was almost a mystery.

“Now, they're going to say I said offing yourself was simple—but no, no, no, it's not simple. Like everything else, you have to read the fine print,” Mark said, knowing that he could be getting himself into a lot of trouble if he didn't make this all very clear. Suicide seemed easy. It wasn't. “For instance, assuming that there is a Heaven, who would ever want to go there? I mean, think about it. It's cool. You're sitting there up on this cloud. It's nice, you know, it's quiet. There's no teachers, there's no parents, but guess what? There's nothing to do. It's fucking boring.”

He could be wrong about that. His parents weren't all that religious, so he didn't know much about what it would be like in Heaven, but that was what they pictured, wasn't it? Everlasting life on some cloud, maybe a harp or two, no cares or worried, but what the hell would you do there?

“Another thing to remember about suicide is that it is not a pretty picture,” Mark said, deciding to make sure he was clear about this, too, since the cloud thing might actually seem appealing to some. “First of all, you shit your shorts. So, there you are, dead. People are weeping over you, crying. Girls you never spoke to are saying, 'Why? Why? Why?' And you have a load in your shorts.”

Disgusting image, but a powerful one. Maybe enough to make people rethink suicide as an option. Maybe if he'd given this speech last night, Malcolm might not have pulled that trigger. 

“That's the way I see it. Sue me.” He snorted, figuring someone would probably try it. “Now, they're saying I shouldn't think stuff like this. They're saying that something is wrong with me, that I should be ashamed. Well... I'm sick of being ashamed. I mean, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

Mark swallowed, looking over to see JD leaning against the wall next to the sliding door. Damn. That was really _not_ supposed to happen. He knew he'd have to explain, but he couldn't, so he looked away, trying to find the words to finish this. 

“I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it. At least pain is real. You look around, and you see nothing is real, but at least pain is real. Even this show isn't real. This isn't me. I'm using a voice disguiser. I'm a phony fuck just like my dad. Just like anybody,” Mark said, sneaking a glance back at JD, not sure how to take that look on his face. Probably not a good sign. “The real me is just as worried as the rest of you. They say I'm disturbed. Of course I'm disturbed! We're all disturbed, and if we're not, _why not?_ Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do something crazy? It makes a hell of a lot more sense than blowing your fucking brains out.”

Or killing someone. Mark wasn't sure if he dared say what he'd been about to say with JD standing there to hear it. “Go nuts. Go crazy. Get creative. You got problems? You just chuck 'em. Nuke 'em. They think you're moody? Make them think you're crazy. Make them think you might snap. They think you've got attitude? You show them some real attitude. I mean, go nuts! Get crazy! No more Mr. Nice Guy!”

He stopped at his desk and grabbed a record, putting it onto the air. _Kick out the jams motherfuckers! Yeah, I'm gonna... I'm gonna kick 'em out. Yeah. Well, I feel pretty good. And I guess that I could get crazy now, baby..._

* * *

Heather Duke threw down her book, leaving it on the floor as she went to her door.

She took the stairs two at a time, jumping down the last few as she went straight for the kitchen. She knew she shouldn't, but she felt like doing what Harry said and getting crazy. She hadn't been crazy in so long, not since she and Martha were still friends.

Grimacing, Heather tried not to think about that.

Sometimes she wondered if her bulimia had anything to do with her not wanting to be as big as Martha or if it was because of Heather Chandler. Chandler liked to pretend that it bored her, that Heather shouldn't do it, but if she really thought that way, why didn't she make her stop? She could have given the order any time, and Heather would have listened.

Instead, she was so stressed and so sure she had to be thin, she did it even though Chandler claimed to disapprove of it.

Well, fuck her.

Heather reached into the freezer, taking out a quart of ice cream and grabbing a spoon. This was hers. She was eating it, and no one was going to make her puke it up. She didn't care if she got fat. She was going to enjoy this for once.

* * *

Paige was sick to death of being ashamed. She was sick to death of pretending nothing was wrong. She was tired of being perfect. She wasn't perfect. So many times she'd thought she'd rather be dead than do another day of this.

She shook her head. No, she wasn't going to kill herself, but she was no longer going to be Miss Perfect. She was going to do a lot more than what Harry had suggested, not just going without makeup and letting her clothes be less than fashionable.

She ripped the Yale pendant off her wall, gathered up her medals and awards, all her certificates of achievements. She carried them down to the kitchen, shoving them into the microwave. She set the timer and backed away, watching the turntable spin as she sat down.

Sparks flew up out of it, flames spreading across the counter.

She watched it burn with a grim smile, feeling better than she had in years.

* * *

Martha took out the figures she'd made for herself and Heather Duke all those years ago, back when she'd thought they'd be friends forever. She used to think maybe they could be like that again, but she knew better now.

She'd held onto these things for too long, and it was time. Past time.

She threw the one that was Heather first, smashing it into the wall and watching it shatter into hundreds of pieces. She bit her lip, feeling tears in her eyes, but she hurled the other one as well, breaking it.

She should feel as shattered as they were, but somehow, a part of her felt a little less empty for once.

* * *

Betty took out a pair of pinking shears, looking over the old dress with a shake of her head. That wasn't her anymore. She didn't know if it had ever been her, or if she'd thought maybe it could be, but those dreams of princesses and fairy tales were over and gone by now.

No white knight was coming for her.

No friend to call her up out of the blue and say she was sorry for everything.

Betty put the scissors to the fabric and started cutting, the zig zag pattern even more satisfying than a regular edge would have been as she cut up the last part of her foolish childhood dreams in the pink of a princess dress.

Never again.

* * *

Heather McNamara set her cheerleading uniform in the metal trash can. She took out a match, lit it, and threw it inside, watching the flame as it tried to catch on the fabric. She lit another and another until she was out of matches and the uniform's white pieces turned dark, burning away the evidence of her failure.

Not cheer captain.

Not anything.

She went to the window and opened it, then turned back to the bird cage, opening the door. “Go. Go now. Be free. Be what I've never been.”

And she sat down to cry.

* * *

Kids were dancing on top of cars and in the streets. Veronica frowned, a bit disconcerted by the chaos that seemed to be all around them as they walked through town. Nora seemed unfazed, but from what Veronica could tell, not much got to her.

“This is weird.”

Nora shook her head, turning up the volume on Veronica's boombox. “No, it's perfect. He's right. Why not do something crazy first? There are so many ways we could be showing that pain they don't see, making them understand it, that aren't as final as killing ourselves. I mean, I'm pretty sure everyone at Westerburg has felt like dying at least once. That place is like hell for most kids. If you're not a Heather, you're screwed, and that's not right.”

“If you are a Heather, you're screwed,” Veronica muttered, thinking of the Remington parties. Nora looked at her and started laughing. “Sometimes I wish Heather was that person who wrote the Miss Perfect letter. Maybe she'd actually change, get better as a person.”

“It really wasn't you?”

“No. And I'm sure it's not either of the other Heathers. Heather Duke would have had literary references all through it, and there wasn't one mention of cheerleading, which while it would have given Heather McNamara away, is too much a part of her not to have included it.”

“Huh,” Nora said. “Then... Paige Woodward, maybe. I can't see it being Courtney.”

“No, not Courtney, as much as she's loved hassling Heather about it. That and the Eat Me, Beat Me letters, but those aren't Heather's style, either.”

“How do you know?”

Veronica didn't mention her talent for forgery. “Well, even if her hatred for Hard Harry isn't something she's faking so no one knows she likes the show—and it isn't, she's constantly surprised by how popular it actually is, and she hates that because it's a threat to her power—Heather's idea of poetry is a lot more like something from Dr. Seuss.”

Nora smiled. “I would love to see some of that.”

“I've got it, back at my house, but you wanted to find Mark, and since JD wasn't waiting for me tonight, I have to hope he's there,” Veronica said. Her father had told her he was chaining up the ladder from the shed, and while there were probably other ways around that, she assumed JD had decided to try and stay at Mark's for the night.

At least... she hoped that was where he'd gone.

* * *

JD knew that he could have broken the lock on that ladder three or four different ways, though if he didn't want to get caught at it, he'd have to fix it in the morning, put it all back before her parents woke and have a new lock on it before then. He didn't have the locks to spare or a store open to get them now, so he decided he'd wait. One night apart wasn't going to kill either of them, and they'd see each other at school, even if they didn't share any classes.

It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't the end of everything, either. He kept trying to tell himself that, even as he was becoming more and more convinced that he'd like to turn his gun on her parents. He didn't think they'd ever understand what she was to him, how much he needed her, and he couldn't lose her, but they were trying to take her from him, and that was unacceptable.

He pulled up in front of Mark's house and parked the bike, walking up to the doors. He slid one open, frowning when he heard Mark's voice, not ready to walk in on a conversation with his parents even if they needed to ask about the adoption.

“Suicide is wrong, but the interesting thing about it is how uncomplicated it seems, you know?” There you are, you got all these problems swarming around in your brain, and here is one simple—one incredibly simple solution. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen every day around here.”

JD frowned. No way Mark was saying that to his parents. He wouldn't dare.

“Now, they're going to say I said offing yourself was simple—but no, no, no, it's not simple. Like everything else, you have to read the fine print,” Mark said, and JD pushed the door further open, looking through the curtain to see Mark pacing the room, mic in hand. “For instance, assuming that there is a Heaven, who would ever want to go there? I mean, think about it. It's cool. You're sitting there up on this cloud. It's nice, you know, it's quiet. There's no teachers, there's no parents, but guess what? There's nothing to do. It's fucking boring.”

JD remembered all those people trying to tell him that his mother was in a better place. Sure, she was, if her life with Bud Dean was anything like JD's, with the bruises and the beatings, but JD had never thought it sounded that great, even when he himself wanted to die.

“Another thing to remember about suicide is that it is not a pretty picture,” Mark said, and JD figured he was trying to scare his audience now. “First of all, you shit your shorts. So, there you are, dead. People are weeping over you, crying. Girls you never spoke to are saying, 'Why? Why? Why?' And you have a load in your shorts.”

That made JD want to laugh. He slipped inside the room, watching Mark continue on, looking more like JD figured he did than ever, wild and a bit out of control, maybe a bit insane.

“Now, they're saying I shouldn't think stuff like this. They're saying that something is wrong with me, that I should be ashamed. Well... I'm sick of being ashamed. I mean, aren't you?”

“Yes,” JD answered. He'd thought he was past shame with his father, but every time a new person learned about his situation there, he felt it all over again, like they were blaming him for not getting help... or the adults blamed him for it happening in the first place, like he'd brought it on himself by not being good enough.

He wasn't Bud's biological son, so he doubted he would ever have been good enough for that man, though even if he was, he figured he'd still be a disappointment only good for a punching bag, if that. His father didn't give a damn about anything but blowing shit up.

Mark was looking at him now, and JD regretted saying anything, but then Mark turned away again, continuing his speech. “I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it. At least pain is real. You look around, and you see nothing is real, but at least pain is real. Even this show isn't real. This isn't me. I'm using a voice disguiser. I'm a phony fuck just like my dad. Just like anybody.” 

JD almost flipped him off for that. Mark knew he was being abused, but he hadn't once admitted he was the damned pirate dj. And if that was some kind of judgment about how JD talked a good game but was really scared as hell behind his rebel kid act—well, fuck him, even if it was true.

“The real me is just as worried as the rest of you. They say I'm disturbed. Of course I'm disturbed! We're all disturbed, and if we're not, _why not?”_

Good question. JD didn't know. He figured anyone who wasn't half crazy before Sherwood would have been driven there soon enough. 

“Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do something crazy? It makes a hell of a lot more sense than blowing your fucking brains out.”

Or letting their husband blow them up in a library, waving goodbye to the son she'd just abandoned to a monster.

“Go nuts. Go crazy. Get creative. You got problems? You just chuck 'em. Nuke 'em. They think you're moody? Make them think you're crazy. Make them think you might snap. They think you've got attitude? You show them some real attitude. I mean, go nuts! Get crazy! No more Mr. Nice Guy!”

Mark put on a record, and the band shouted out its opening line. JD just waited, figuring it was time for a bit of a talk when Mark set the mic down.

“You sure you want to say all that?” JD asked, arms folded over his chest.

“Honestly? With that gun in your pocket? No,” Mark admitted, leaning back against the desk. “I just... there had to be a way of releasing some of that frustration and tension and fear... everything we feel and we're trapped by... There's got to be a way to let it out without killing ourselves or someone else, right?”

“Hell if I know,” JD answered. He closed his eyes, head against the wall, thinking about all the ways he'd thought about using his own gun. “I was pretty sure my only way out was killing my father.”

“You going to say you didn't think about maybe doing the same to Veronica's parents?” Mark asked. “Or yourself?”

“What the hell do you want from me?” JD demanded. “You might be my brother—”

“We have the same birthday. I can almost guarantee I am.”

“But that doesn't mean shit and you know it.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and JD try to figure out where they stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that last part was hard, and then following it up was also hard, and I was in the middle of a scene going, "this is complete crap" and wanting to throw it out but it was supposed to be there and then the ending was wrong and I couldn't find the right one until I was getting ready to post...
> 
> The joys of writing, I suppose.

* * *

“It does,” Mark said. It wasn't just about sharing a face or blood. They had that, but it wouldn't have mattered much if JD had been like his father. Yes, he'd scared the hell out of Mark when they first met, shooting the car like that, but he'd also seen other sides to JD that were not as frightening. And he'd see something in his brother that was again very much like him. “Or did you miss all of that? I am not okay. None of us are okay. I am screwed up, too, and it's not just because I was adopted, though we both know I got the better part of that deal.”

JD looked like he fought a smile there for brief second, but he didn't give into it.

“I go on the radio at night, tell everyone all this stuff I can't say to people I actually know. I see all this pain and suffering and there's not a damned thing I can do about it except talk on the radio,” Mark said, shaking his head and reaching for a cigarette, needing something to do with his hands. “I actually don't talk off the radio.”

JD snorted, clearly not believing him.

“That wasn't shock when we first met. That was how I am with almost everyone,” Mark insisted. “You haven't seen it because you're the only one outside of my parents I seem to manage whole sentences with. How fucked up is that?”

“Considering it's me—”

“No. Not because it's you. I know you have problems, but that time I was talking about mine,” Mark said, finally voicing a part of how much he hated his inability to speak outside of this room. “It's fucking pathetic. That's what I am. You have issues, but your dad's a sadist. My parents aren't evil. They're just... clueless. And what's my big trauma? Moving to Sherwood. You've moved a lot more than I have. You lost your mom.”

“Everybody's life has static,” JD said. “Suppose the important part is how you deal with it.”

“Some of us better than others,” Mark said, taking another drag. “I don't know how to feel half the time. I was miserable here, and then I got beat up, which shouldn't be a good thing, but if it hadn't happened, I'm not so sure we would ever have met.”

JD took out his own cigarette and lit it. “I can pretty much guarantee we wouldn't have.”

“Because you were going to use that gun on your father.”

“And either ended up in prison or dead, yeah.” JD shook his head, laughing. “Well, that's a bit funny, isn't it? You getting beat up might just have saved me. That's fucked up.”

“Yes, it is,” Mark agreed. “Still... I _am_ glad.”

“Somehow you seem the less sane of the two of us right now, and I thought that was me.”

Mark laughed. “Well, I still think it's you, but I think about why I started this... and while I might never have gone looking for those papers if we hadn't met, I don't know what the hell I would have done when I found them if I didn't have someone to talk to about them. Do you have any idea what it's like to talk to dozens of people on the radio... and yet have no one you can actually speak to?”

“No.” JD went over to his hamster, checking on it. “Though before Veronica... I didn't have anyone. No one believed me about him. She did. And you did. Hell, you guessed it.”

Mark nodded. Then he winced. “Hold on a second. I either need to put on another record or drop off the air.”

“After telling them to go crazy? You need something more than that.”

Mark knew he did, which had him fumbling over his desk, looking for something to follow up _Kick Out the Jams._ Something a bit upbeat yet mellower than that rock anthem. He didn't have a lot of time to perfect his choice, but he thought maybe he'd picked a decent one with Steve Winwood's _Roll With It._ He put it on and turned back to his brother.

“Okay, I bought myself a few more minutes. Now what the hell do I say?”

JD frowned. “Is this because I'm here?”

Mark had never actually done a broadcast with someone watching him, so maybe that was it. Maybe he couldn't do this in front of anyone. Then again... he'd done it earlier, and he didn't seem to have the same trouble talking to JD, not anymore.

“You said you wanted a solution that wasn't killing someone.”

Mark nodded. “Yes.”

“Suppose I do, too. Heather's making Veronica miserable, and she's the one that got her parents to ban her from seeing me.”

Mark swallowed. That was not good for Heather or Veronica's parents, given how unstable JD's situation was—how unstable JD was. Mark liked him, in spite of everything, and he didn't want to think that, but he knew that it was true. “And... you want to do something about that.”

“I said I was going to write into the dj about the Remington parties. So I didn't write a letter. And you can't call me because I don't have a phone and I'd sound just like you, but Heather needs to be stopped.”

Right, Mark thought, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd faked a letter.

* * *

For someone who couldn't talk, JD thought Mark had a bit of a way with words. He had lit up again already, barely a second passing between the one he'd extinguished and the new one, and JD thought the other boy did more of his smoking when he was nervous. He knew he sometimes felt calmer after his own nicotine fix, and he wouldn't be surprised if Mark's little habit had a lot to do with his rebellious Hard Harry side.

“There's this part of me that feels like I've already said too much tonight,” Mark began, shifting in his seat. “And there's another part of me that knows that I haven't scratched the surface of what should be said, what _needs_ to be said. You can't heal the pain of a generation with only a few words and a rock anthem. I can't make right what I didn't say with those words, either.”

JD reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. Not only was that kid not dead, it wouldn't be Mark's fault if he was. Malcolm had decided before he ever talked to Mark that he was going to kill himself. So what if he wrote a letter and had Mark call? Maybe nothing could have changed his mind. Or maybe something had, since the guy was still alive after what he'd tried to do.

Mark glared at him, and JD rolled his eyes.

“Maybe someday you'll understand that it wasn't your fault,” JD said, and Mark frowned. They both knew that was going to go over the air, with as close as JD was at the moment. “That it wasn't my fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.”

“Nice. You ever feel like a hypocrite?”

“All the time.”

“Fuck,” Mark swore, reaching for another cassette and putting it on. He pushed the mic away from him. “You know this won't work if you don't stop that.”

“Like you should be beating yourself up for what that kid did. Fuck that.”

“Don't make me regret saying you could stay here tonight—or agreeing to help you with this Heather situation.”

JD snorted. “You know that if I was really going to be an asshole about things, I'd just threaten to tell everyone who you are because that would screw you over big time. You think Kurt and Ram hated you before? You think you could stay invisible if Heather Chandler had a real name for her enemy?”

“Fuck you.”

“That would be a bit weird. Is it like masturbation if it's a twin or—”

“Shut up, asshole,” Mark said, shaking his head as he fought to control his reaction to that. “Okay, song is ending. I'm going back on air. Don't talk or I'm shoving you and your hamster outside.”

“Hey, Slushie is an innocent bystander in all this.”

“You are not making this easy.”

 _Why should I?_ JD almost asked, but he didn't. As much as it was strange to think of his twin being Hard Harry, he found it kind of fitting. The only two decent things about this town—Veronica and Hard Harry. He would have had to add a third in Mark except Mark was Hard Harry, so it still fit.

He mimed a zipper over his lips, and Mark rolled his eyes as he tried again.

“Sorry about that folks. I think it's clear I'm having a bit of an off night. We all are, aren't we? Still, there's a bit of comfort in the routine, so I figure we could all use a bit of that. Let's take a brief look in Harry's mailbag to round out the night. Let's see here... I've got a rather pungent one this time—and no, it's not the sweet scent of poetry lady, sorry horndogs—but I think... Yep, that's beer. Okay, then. This could be interesting. Maybe I shouldn't open it.”

JD snorted. Mark gave him a pointed look. He shrugged. What the hell did it matter, anyway? The letter wasn't real, and if someone heard that over the mic, they'd just assume it was part of the show. They couldn't see JD, which was probably for the best because anyone watching them would find it weird, if not creepy.

He knew he still found it odd, but then again, while it was fitting, it was still a bit hard to believe that quiet little Mark over there was loud, in your face Hard Harry.

“'Dear Hard Harry,'” Mark pretended to quote from his imaginary letter. “'I like your show best when you jerk off a lot. Six times in an hour beats my record of three, but I'm working on it.'”

“Damn, I did not need to know that,” JD said, and Mark just shook his head, not bothering to fight about it.

“'I listen to your show all the time, but you talk too much about high school and problems for me. You need to play more music and jack off more often. That's what we at Remington really want to hear. Who cares about high school unless it's a hot babe giving you head at a party? That's all that we want. And we usually get it from Westerburg. If you were with us, you'd get it, too, because there's a lady there that makes sure we all get what we want, if you know what I mean.'”

“Bitch,” JD said, and Mark flipped him off. JD turned away, trying not to laugh into the mic this time. Still, he was right, and he thought that his commentary was making the show.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Well, honestly, I don't know what to think of this letter, and I'll be honest, I regret using it to close my show. I mean, there's more, but I don't even think I want to read it. I feel a bit like I'm being set up again, like Miss Screwed-Up did to me, though that one was a bit funnier for some reason... Not sure if it's the whole tragic air hanging over things or just the fact that I got fan mail from a neanderthal.”

“Or both.”

Mark covered the mic. “JD, I swear, if you interrupt me again—”

“Finish the letter. You haven't made it clear that Heather's the one pimping out her friends yet. That has to happen before school tomorrow. Veronica needs it.”

“Did you give any thought to what school will be like for you tomorrow?” Mark asked. “She has. She's worried about both of us.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Mark sighed. Then he uncovered the mic. “Let's see... 'Last week she brought us this real fine one. New and fresh, but she didn't want to put out. Kept saying she had a boyfriend. None of us were very happy about that, but you know... turn up a bit of Hard Harry, do a bit of dancing, have a few more beers... it's a decent night, even if my balls are a little blue.' Signed, 'College Boy.' I think. It's a bit hard to read. And.... um... thanks. I guess I'm flattered. Maybe.”

“And on that note, it's time for music.”

Mark shook his head as he reached to change the record, letting some boring band play. JD was about to say something about it when he found himself face-to-face with Mark's lizard. He jerked his head back.

“Get that thing away from me.”

“I almost threw him on you since you pissed me off so much. Only you might have hurt him, and that's not what I wanted. It's you I'm mad at. That wasn't easy to do, you know. I had to come up with a whole letter out of my ass, and I couldn't have it be from Veronica or one of the other Heathers because Chandler would just turn on them, and while I did not love pretending to be an idiot frat boy, I tried very hard to make that convincing.”

“It was. It was also disgusting. Mission accomplished. Lizard out of face now.”

“I am going to wrap up after this song, and you are going outside to smoke,” Mark said, taking out one of his cigarettes and passing it to him. "Now, or I'll get him to lick you. Don't think he won't. Mom won't go near him because I managed to get her a few times.”

“Gross,” JD muttered, taking the cigarette. “But effective. Nice work, Marky boy.”

* * *

“He seems... different tonight,” Veronica couldn't help observing as the music played. It seemed almost like Harry had grabbed some random thing instead of actually choosing what he played. He hadn't said anything about it or anything. _Roll With It_ she almost understood, it was an attempt to come down from the crazy _Kick Out the Jams_ high, but this?

“He's been strange all week,” Nora said. “Monday, when he played music instead of masturbating on air despite saying that was what he was doing and then that letter... I mean, that would mess anyone up, so he was off early, which happens, but not that often. And last night when he was on he started off so angry...”

“I missed last night's broadcast,” Veronica admitted. “JD took me out of town so I couldn't go to the Remington party. Well, that and we were celebrating him getting a job.”

“You tell your parents that he had a job?”

“Yes, but they didn't care. They want to see him as evil as Heather painted him. They even bought that whole conspiracy theory she told them—with Mark becoming JD to look cool or something. Which is ridiculous.”

“Did you tell your parents there are two of them?”

“I tried to, but I got shut down as soon as I said, 'what if he had a twin.' Apparently, I was trying to blame everything on an 'evil' twin instead of JD, and I was the one being ridiculous.”

Nora shook her head. “I think everyone else is going to think JD's the evil twin.”

“He's not evil. He's... damaged,” Veronica said. She took a breath and let it out. “It's not that I'm saying he's—he's just been through a lot. His mom died, and his dad's a dick, and I don't think he knows what to do with himself half the time, but when he's with me... I feel like he could be so much more if he just had a chance, and I want to give it to him.”

“You know, you could give that to yourself a bit,” Nora told her, and Veronica frowned. “You're letting Heather get to you way too damned much.”

Veronica tried to think of something to say, but she couldn't manage anything, and then the music ended and Hard Harry's voice came on. “So the mail bag is empty, surprisingly enough—”

“Liar,” Nora muttered, and Veronica frowned at her, but Harry hadn't heard her, so he just continued on with what he was saying.

“And I'm not sure I'd want to read anything else if I had it. I came on tonight to end things. One last broadcast. I was going to apologize to Malcolm and say goodbye. That was it. And then I couldn't stop with a few words, no, I had to keep going because I had more to say, more I should have said, and I didn't want to make that same mistake again. And I know I probably didn't say all I should have said—you know what, Mr. Remington College Boy? Expecting some high school girl to give you sex because she's friends with a popular girl is wrong. And this girl who arranges things that, pimping out her friends? She should be ashamed of herself. No one should ask someone else to give away a part of themselves like that. Sex should be a choice, something agreed on by both parties without coercion. If not, you know what it really is, right? Rape. 

“There. I said it. I was direct. So if that's happening, if a friend or a boyfriend or anyone else is forcing you to into sex when you don't want it, then you need to do more than go crazy. You need more than better friends—but you still need them, we all need support—you need to end it. Get out of that situation, whatever it is. If you need help, get help, but don't let people go on using you.”

Veronica realized she'd stopped walking. So had Nora.

“I know I said adults don't understand, and a lot of them don't, but that doesn't mean there isn't someone out there somewhere that does,” Hard Harry went on. “Maybe it's hard to see it, they're hard to find, but there's someone... even if it's just a voice on a radio, desperate himself to be heard. I'll screw it up if you pick me, I think we all know that, but... there are ways out, even if we can't see them. We just have to hold on a little longer. All of us.”

“He can actually be very... inspiring,” Veronica said, though her emotions were all over the place after the discussion of Remington and what sounded very much like what Heather asked them to do.

“You have no idea,” Nora said, and Veronica frowned, trying to understand that. “Though it's a shame it's over already.”

Veronica nodded, starting walking again. She wasn't sure she could have taken much more of it, but she was glad Hard Harry hadn't quit tonight like he'd planned. He helped so much more than he knew, and he wasn't to blame for what Malcolm did.

Of course, she said that not having actually heard that broadcast.

“JD,” Veronica called, catching sight of him outside Mark's house. He looked up from lighting his cigarette and frowned. She ignored it, hurrying over to where he stood, not caring about anything else. “I'm glad you're here. When Dad said he was locking up the ladder and you hadn't already snuck into my room, I wasn't sure what you'd do.”

“Well, it wouldn't take much to get around the lock, but I couldn't go buy a new one just yet,” JD told her with a slight smile. “How'd you get out? I thought you were under house arrest.”

“Oh, I owe that to Nora. She came by the house, told my parents we were working on a project this afternoon, and they agreed to let me go over to her place and finish it.”

“I see they're overly trusting of anyone female,” JD said, voice full of scorn. “You know, if you were to decide you didn't like me and wanted to play with the ladies, I think you could practically get away with murder there and your parents would never suspect it.”

Veronica grimaced. “You sounded a bit too much like Kurt or Ram there.”

“Not even. They'd have made some crack about how wrong being gay is and suggest they could fuck you back straight or something like that,” JD said, shaking his head in disgust.

“I agree,” Nora said, walking up to join them. “That sounds a lot more like them. And, hi, I'm Nora. We haven't officially met, though I did want to tell you what you did with Kurt and Ram in the cafeteria was pretty cool. I especially liked when you got Ram to knock himself out.”

“Thank you. You should have seen the encore.”

“No, they shouldn't have,” Mark said, coming out of the sliding door. “You were not impressive—you looked deranged. Trust me.”

“I don't know,” Nora said. “Maybe Veronica here thinks he's cute when he's deranged.”

Mark swallowed. “Uh...”

“Too much information for you again, Marky boy?” JD asked, clapping him on the back. “Relax. You really need to work on your tension. You're very stiff right now.”

“I hate you so much,” Mark muttered. “That's not even funny. And you have to send your girlfriend home before my parents hear you out here.”

He pointed up, and Veronica winced to see they were right under what was probably his parents' bedroom window. Then he stepped out of JD's hold and went inside. Nora went around them, following him inside.

Veronica frowned. JD smiled as he came back to her side. “I think she likes him. He might even like her back. He got all tongue-tied in front of her.”

“Oh.” Veronica shook her head. “That explains a few things. She knows you look alike, and that's probably why she came to me. She wanted information on the two of you. And here I thought she was just being nice.”

“Well, maybe her motives weren't pure, but I'm not so sure I'm disappointed in the results,” JD told her. “I didn't think I'd get to see you until the morning, and maybe not then if I missed you going into class. It would be lunch, and I didn't want to wait until then.”

“Hmm. And what if we wake Mark's parents?”

“Well, I know you can and do scream during sex, but I also know you can be very quiet if the situation calls for it, so...”

“Pervert,” she said, elbowing him. “That's not what I meant. We could still wake them by talking.”

“Maybe we shouldn't talk then,” he said with a dangerous smile.

* * *

“I'm glad you didn't quit,” Nora said, closing the door behind her. Damn, this was bolder than she'd thought she'd be. A part of her had thought about giving up on seeing him after he kept going, launching into that speech about suicide, but she would have had to really explain why she really wanted to see him. Veronica hadn't pushed too much about it, probably distracted by the idea of seeing her boyfriend again, but she wasn't a complete idiot. She could figure out that Nora wanting to go see Mark as soon as Hard Harry called off his broadcast meant Mark knew something about Hard Harry.

That he _was_ Hard Harry.

It was possible Veronica knew, but if she didn't, Nora wouldn't be the one to tell her.

Mark didn't respond, picking a lizard up from the cluttered desk and sitting down with it. He made a show of not looking at her, his attention focused on the animal in his hands. 

“I'm not kidding. You couldn't just... go. You have no idea what you mean to so many of us. What Hard Harry means to us.”

He snorted.

She walked over in front of him. “Look, I know you're him. And I think a couple other people know, not that I've asked because I told you I wasn't ratting you out and I won't.”

He looked toward the door and back at his lizard. Wow. Nora felt the brush off, and she did not like it. She thought about it for about two seconds and then plucked the lizard out of his hands. He stared at her as she held it on the back of her hand.

“What's his name?”

He choked, seeming to have trouble again. “Harry.”

“Really?” Nora asked, grinning. “That's great. I assume he came before the other Harry did.”

He nodded.

“You had him before you moved here, huh?”

Another nod, and then he took the lizard back from her. She watched him, trying to figure him out. Hard Harry was so brash and bold, and standing in this room with Mark, it was almost impossible to believe they were the same person, even though she was sure they were.

“Did you give yourself a sore throat tonight or what?”

He shook his head, rising from the chair to put the lizard back down on its perch. He fed it a cricket, and she grimaced. It was cuter when she wasn't watching it eat, that was for sure.

The door opened behind her, and JD walked in, leading Veronica by the hand. 

“Relax,” JD told him. “Your parents are still asleep. No lights on upstairs, and no movement, either. They're still clueless.”

Mark nodded, still very uncomfortable. 

“I think I'm going to take Veronica home before it gets any later.”

Mark snorted. “I don't think I believe that, but I don't want to know more.”

JD laughed. “Don't worry. No one's going to do anything crazy.”

“It's you,” Mark said. “I'll worry.”

JD smiled back at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair and getting Mark to flip him off. Nora caught Veronica smiling, and she had to wonder if the two of them were like this a lot. For strangers, they seemed comfortable with each other, more or less. At least Mark managed whole sentences with JD. Nora hadn't gotten that much, though she really wanted to know if he'd read her last letter yet.

“I'll be fine. Just going to drop Veronica off home and I'll be back. And—shit. I forgot to get food for Slushie. You have any fruit or veggies I can give him for now?”

“Got protein,” Mark said, holding up a cricket and making Veronica shudder.

“Nice,” JD muttered. “And I'm the crazy one.”

“I'm kidding,” Mark said. “I'll get something from upstairs in a bit. You'd better go if you're going, the later you are getting back, the more likely you are to wake them. They're actually more active in the early hours of the morning than right now.”

“There's a story to that, isn't there?” JD asked, giving him a bit of a smirk.

“Not one worth telling, trust me,” Mark said with a bit of a shudder. He sighed. “Come on, I am not the only kid who has walked in his parents doing... that.”

“Only one in this room,” JD said with a smile. He nudged Veronica to the door. “Let's go, Ronnie. It's late and dark, and I don't want your parents freaking out again. Then they'll refuse to let Veronica do anything with Nora, and how will we ever double date?”

Mark stared at him. “You... asshole.”

“I'm your brother, and you love me, remember?” JD asked, and Mark rolled his eyes, picking up the closest thing he could find to throw it at him. The empty cigarette carton bounced off harmlessly, and JD was still laughing as he tugged Veronica out the door.

“Night, Mark. See you tomorrow,” she said, and he managed a small nod before turning back to his lizard.

Nora looked at him. “I should probably go, too.”

He nodded.

“You could at least say goodbye.”

He looked up at her, swallowed, and lowered his head. She sighed, shaking her head as she started for the door. Then she stopped, said _fuck it,_ and turned back to him. She hadn't had a chance to do anything crazy before, walking with Veronica, but she'd do it now.

“Thank you,” she said, getting a frown from him. “For tonight. For all the nights before now. For speaking up and voicing what we all knew was wrong but didn't know how to say. For the music and the laughs but also the understanding. Our pain is real, and we shouldn't have to hide it to be accepted or because no one gets it. Or us. You do. You gave all of us a voice.”

“I didn't—”

“You did,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. She willed herself not to blush and run, though she was tempted. “Thank you.”

* * *

A parent opened a teenager's door, not crossing the threshold.

"School's been cancelled. Heather Chandler is dead."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deals with the fallout of a death at Westerburg.

* * *

It took a moment when Mark woke to recognize his own bedroom. He wasn't used to sleeping in here, but he'd gone for it after feeding JD's hamster, leaving the other boy the couch near the sliding doors. That was easier, since he couldn't know when JD would actually get back from taking Veronica home—and he still had his doubts about them going directly there—and just better all around.

He was still trying to talk himself into moving when his door opened.

“School's been canceled. Heather Chandler is dead.”

“What?” Mark asked, choking on it as he sat up. That wasn't possible. He didn't know Malcolm to say if he believed that boy would have actually committed suicide, but he'd seen enough of Heather Chandler where he'd never have believed it.

“Your father's gone in to work already,” his mother told him. “They're really worried by all this. There will probably be a parent teacher meeting later tonight. Did you know Heather?”

“Only by reputation, and it wasn't good,” Mark said, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you sure? You don't look... well,” his mother said, frowning a little.

He hadn't had time to put makeup on his face, and he probably looked like hell, though at least he wasn't facing her directly and the lighting in this room was bad. “I'm fine, Mom. Just tired.”

“All right, sweetheart,” she told him. “You get some rest today since you have it off.”

He nodded, waiting for her to leave his doorway. He rose, checking for her on the stairs before crossing the hall to the other room. He opened the door and crossed over to the couch, where JD was still sleeping, using his coat as a blanket.

He reached down to touch JD's shoulder, willing himself not to ask before the other boy was awake. JD jerked, reaching out to attack whoever dared touch him, and Mark had to duck to avoid getting hit again.

“It's just me.”

JD let out a breath, trying to calm himself. “Sorry.”

“You always wake up like that?”

“Um... not when I can smell Veronica's shampoo and I know he's nowhere around,” JD said. “Believe me, it's not safe to sleep around him.”

Mark did, and he didn't want to know more about why. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to know everything there was to know about his twin's abuse at his father's hand. He hated himself for knowing he was a coward—and a lucky one, at that. His father's idea of discipline rarely got physical, but when it did, the spanking was well deserved and had been coming for weeks if not months.

He sat down, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions inside him. “Did... You went... Heather Chandler is dead.”

“You're kidding.”

Mark shook his head. “No, my mother just told me, and she wouldn't joke about something like that. She wouldn't even know to use that name, since she doesn't know about any of this, about you or Veronica or what Heather's been doing to you both.”

“Damn. Didn't see that coming.”

“Didn't you?” Mark heard himself ask, not sure where this boldness was coming from even as JD stared at him in shock. “Tell me it wasn't you. You and Veronica... you had nothing to do with it, right?”

“Fuck you. How can you even ask me that?” JD demanded. “I mean it. Fuck you. I asked you for the non-violent solution. You gave it to me, remember? You faked that letter, we exposed Heather, and I didn't do shit to her. I was looking forward to seeing her squirm today. That's it. I took Veronica home and came back. That's it.”

“That's it,” Mark repeated, feeling a bit strange. “That's really it.”

“Screw this,” JD said, standing up. “I'm going. I'll come back for the hamster later. Maybe my boss can keep him. Or Veronica. She'll just have to lie to her parents and say he's not mine or something—”

“You don't have to move him,” Mark said. “I believe you.”

JD turned to stare at him. “You do?”

Mark nodded. “I won't say I'm not scared for you—even a bit of you—but I believe you. I... I don't know. I think I just needed to hear it... Maybe I... I didn't want to believe it of myself.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“I did it. I faked that letter, exposed Heather, and she killed herself,” Mark said. “It's my fault.”

* * *

“The school called,” Veronica's mother said, leaning in the doorway. She hadn't bothered to knock, just opened the door. If she expected someone to be there besides Veronica, she was going to be disappointed, but then JD would have been up and gone by now anyway. He always was. Veronica didn't actually think he slept much, if at all. “They're canceling classes today.”

Veronica looked up from the dress she was about to put on, telling herself she could wear whatever she wanted now that she was no longer a Heather. She wasn't too sure about it, but while she liked blue and it suited her, she could use a bit more variety in her wardrobe, too.

“Canceling class? Since when?” Veronica asked. Then she stopped. “Oh, God. Did that kid die? Is there going to be a funeral?”

Her mother swallowed, coming toward her. “Veronica, I don't know how to tell you this, especially after all that has been going on, but it wasn't just some kid that died. It was Heather Chandler. She's dead. School has been canceled.”

Veronica stared at her mother in disbelief. “No. Heather was alive and kicking yesterday. She was cruel and horrible and every bit herself. She wasn't sick. What happened? Did she—was she in some kind of accident?”

“They're saying suicide.”

“What? Heather? No way,” Veronica said, shaking her head. Even with Courtney pushing the way she was and people thinking she was the Eat Me, Beat Me lady, she was still fighting. She wouldn't have killed herself, even if—Oh, no.”

“What?”

Veronica swallowed, feeling sick. Could that letter from Hard Harry have done it? Was that it? It wasn't from Heather—any of the Heathers—or Veronica, so it wouldn't have been completely clear she'd been the one handing out her friends like party favors. She could still have denied it, even if the rest of them knew it was true. She would have. Her power might have lessened, but she was still Heather Chandler.

She'd have regrouped and fought, right? She wouldn't have killed herself.

“It's nothing,” Veronica said, knowing that she needed to talk to someone. The other Heathers, would they know if Heather had killed herself? Maybe, though probably not. Still... they'd be willing to talk to her now, wouldn't they? No more Heather to give them orders and make them as hateful as she'd been. So she could start there.

“Veronica—”

“It's nothing, really,” Veronica said. “I just... I was so mad at her, I didn't think I'd be this upset she was dead, that's all.”

Her mother nodded. “Okay, then. I'll leave you alone. You let me know if you need anything.”

She did. She needed JD. She needed to find Hard Harry and ask him about that letter. She needed a lot of things, but none of them her mother could help her with.

“Actually,” she called, and her mother turned back. “If I went to see Heather, would you freak out on me, or can I go—”

“Go see your friends, honey. I'm sure they need you right now.”

* * *

“Damn,” JD whispered, still trying to wake up. Sleep hadn't been easy—it never was, but last night was harder. He wasn't with Veronica, and he couldn't help jerking at every noise Slushie or the damned lizard made. Then came the usual dreams. The nightmares.

And yet, something like a dream had still managed to happen.

Heather Chandler, megabitch, was dead. She'd never bother Veronica again, and JD didn't feel a bit sorry about that. He was glad. Now if the universe would just do something about his father... and her parents, life could be very, very good. “Didn't see that coming.”

“Didn't you?” Mark asked, and JD found himself staring at his twin. The hell was this? “Tell me it wasn't you. You and Veronica... you had nothing to do with it, right?”

“Fuck you. How can you even ask me that?” JD demanded, angry. He hadn't done anything to Heather. He wasn't one bit sorry she was dead, but he hadn't touched that bitch. And who the hell did Mark think he was to accuse JD of that? If JD was going to kill someone, it was going to be his dad, not Heather Chandler. Besides, hadn't they worked together the night before? JD had taken the idiot up on his offer of help, and this was the thanks he got? He should have killed her for all the trust and goodwill he'd gotten out of _not_ doing it.

“I mean it. Fuck you. I asked you for the non-violent solution. You gave it to me, remember?” JD asked, gesturing to the equipment that was mostly hidden right now. Mark had put away all of that last night, but a few reminders of his work as Hard Harry remained. “You faked that letter, we exposed Heather, and I didn't do shit to her. I was looking forward to seeing her squirm today. That's it. I took Veronica home and came back. That's it.”

“That's it,” Mark repeated, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “That's really it.”

“Screw this.” JD stood. He wasn't about to stay around for this. What good was a brother if all Mark did was accuse him? He hadn't even done anything. He was tired of everyone assuming he had. “I'm going. I'll come back for the hamster later. Maybe my boss can keep him. Or Veronica. She'll just have to lie to her parents and say he's not mine or something—”

“You don't have to move him,” Mark said, his voice quiet, troubled. “I believe you.”

JD turned back, frowning. He didn't think that was possible. Or true. Mark didn't trust him, and to believe, you had to trust, right? “You do?”

Mark nodded. “I won't say I'm not scared for you—even a bit of you—but I believe you. I... I don't know. I think I just needed to hear it... Maybe I... I didn't want to believe it of myself.”

Now JD was very confused. Did Mark sleepwalk or something? Had someone actually accused him of going to kill Heather Chandler? If they had, both of them were fucked, since they looked alike, but then there would be no actual way to prove which one of them did it.

They'd just assumed it was JD, though. He was the dark one, even if Mark was Hard Harry.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“I did it. I faked that letter, exposed Heather, and she killed herself,” Mark said. “It's my fault.”

JD stared at him. What was with Mark and taking the blame for all the evil in the world? Not that JD wanted it to be on him, but Mark was insane. Okay, yes, they'd told the world about Heather's scheme, but that wasn't really enough reason for the girl to kill herself. She was a fool if she had. Yeah, it would have been rough, but JD had survived rough for years. He would have thought Chandler could have lasted at least a day.

Pathetic. She hadn't even tried to face it. Veronica had. She'd stayed strong despite what Heather had done to her.

Chandler was spineless. Fitting, but stupid all the same.

“You didn't kill her. You don't even know for sure that it's a suicide, do you?”

Mark shook his head. “No. I... Mom said there would probably be a parent teacher meeting, and I guess I assumed after Malcolm—”

“You know he's just in a coma, right?”

“What?”

“In a coma, not dead, not your fault even if he was dead,” JD said. “Your parents told me he might have hesitated or changed his mind at the last second, so he didn't kill himself, just came damned close. And even if he had killed himself, there was a good chance that nothing you said would have changed it. Someone sets on that course, and it's what they're gong to do no matter what they're told or what they have to live for.”

Mark looked down at his hands. “I'm sorry about your mother, JD. I... I wish we'd met sooner. Maybe... maybe she would have thought... maybe she would have given you to my parents if she was planning on it, maybe it could have spared you... a lot of things.”

“Yeah, we still need to deal with that whole mess,” JD said, thinking of the two different birthplaces they supposedly had. “Still, with you in Massachusetts—”

“New York. I grew up in New York.” Mark frowned. “Wait—you didn't grow up in Texas, either, did you? You'd have a pretty recognizable accent if you did, and somehow we sound enough alike to fool my parents and a lot of other people.”

“We moved around a lot, though not at first,” JD said, frowning. “I don't know. That's something we'll have to ask them about. I'm not sure what it means. Your mom still home?”

Mark shrugged. “I don't know. I think we'd better find out about Heather, though. If this happened because of what I said on the radio, exposing her like that—”

“It's not your fault.”

“Like you never blamed yourself for your mom,” Mark said, and JD glared at him. “Sorry. That was... kind of low, but you know it doesn't just... shut off. Even knowing I said all that stuff against suicide doesn't help.”

JD nodded. He had his own reasons for needing to know what happened to Chandler, so he was fine with finding out before they did anything else. “We'll see what we can learn. And I have to work today, since I'm off. I told my boss I would any days I had off from school, I'd be in, and while this wasn't planned, it's not like I can't use the money if I want to get free of my dad. Or just live, period. Can't keep bouncing from house to house and wearing your clothes like this.”

Mark grimaced. “Maybe we should just talk to my mother. If she knew about you—”

“What if they did know?” JD asked. “Maybe they never wanted two of us. Maybe they chose not to adopt the both of us.”

Mark paled. “No. They wouldn't... would they?”

“I don't know.”

* * *

“I just can't believe she's gone,” Heather McNamara said, shaking her head as she sat down on the steps. She knew Heather Chandler was mad at her, but the first place she thought of going was here, to Veronica's backyard, where they'd spent so many hours playing croquet together. She'd picked up Heather's red ball first and was still staring at it, even as Heather Duke ate an entire bag of potato chips herself.

“It doesn't seem possible,” Duke agreed, reaching for another bag of snacks. “Heather was so... full of life, you know?”

“Suicide wasn't her style,” Heather said. She wanted to throw the ball and hit someone, but Veronica was the only one around, and while Chandler had been mad at her, Heather wasn't. She still liked Veronica and even understood why Veronica had refused to go to that party. She just wished she'd done it herself. “What do you think, Veronica?”

“It didn't seem like her,” Veronica admitted. “I guess I figured she'd still fight even if some creep from Remington wrote in about their 'parties.'”

“She would have just denied that,” Duke said, biting into a pretzel with glee. “Ooh, that is good.”

“You're eating,” Heather said, staring at her, but Duke just shrugged.

“So?”

“So nothing,” Veronica said. “It's a good thing, Heather, really. We're not saying anything because we think you shouldn't. We always thought you should.”

Duke managed a smile, but then she stopped. “Well, it looks like we have company.”

“Um... hi, Veronica,” Betty Finn said as she came up, Martha Dunnstock at her side. “I just... I wanted to check and see if you were okay. I know Heather was your friend, and we just... Well, I was worried. Nora said we should just come check if we were, so...”

“Nora?” Heather asked, not sure she knew who that was.

“I'm glad you came by,” Veronica said, smiling like she really was. “I missed you. I've wanted to talk to you, but so much has been going on lately. It's been kind of crazy. And, Martha... there's something I should tell you about that letter from Kurt Kelly—”

“Veronica,” Duke said. “What the hell? Just because Heather died doesn't mean you need to—to bring up the past like that. It's over and done and best forgotten.”

Veronica shook her head, glaring back at her for a moment before forcing a smile for Betty and Martha. “I suppose it's better not to dwell. I am still glad you came. We're not really... up to much at the moment.”

“Except Heather seems to be eating everything in sight,” Heather said, looking over at Duke again. Where was that whole obsession with being thin now?

She shrugged. “I got crazy. And I liked it.”

“Tell me about it,” Martha said. “I broke those old clay figures of us I made in middle school. And it felt good.”

Duke stared at her. “You did?”

“I cut up my princess dress from that Halloween,” Betty told Veronica, shrugging. “I didn't know what I was doing at first, but it felt right.”

“So all of you got crazy during Harry's broadcast?” Veronica asked, looking at them, and getting nods. Heather hoped she wouldn't ask about what she'd done. She didn't know what they'd do when they found out she burned her cheerleading uniform, and now that morning had come, she wasn't sure she'd done right sending her bird away.

“Did you?” Betty asked, sounding more bold than Heather would have ever thought she'd be. “Do something crazy, I mean?”

“Does her relationship with JD count?” Duke asked. “Because that would seem to be plenty enough.”

“Sounds to me like someone's jealous,” a new voice said, coming out of the house. “Sorry. Your mom said everyone was back here and just to go on back.”

“Not a problem,” Veronica told her. “Betty said it was your idea to come over here.”

“Well, I admit, I tried to find Mark first, but he wasn't home, so I decided I'd check with you,” Nora said, hopping down the stairs and over to Veronica's side, passing her a cigarette. She lit one up herself, with both Betty and Martha frowning at her. 

Veronica borrowed her lighter and lit up the cigarette she'd been given. “Trying to use me to meet a guy again, hmm? I don't know if I'm pissed or amused.”

Nora shrugged. “I think my former best friend would be calling me a bitch or a slut about now, but it's not like I've got a reputation to lose, right? And since we're not actually friends but you kind of owe me, twice, I think you can overlook it.”

“Maybe,” Veronica said, and the two of them shared a smile that had everyone frowning. Martha and Betty exchanged a look and Heather did the same with Duke. None of them really knew what any of that was about.

“You think she really killed herself?”

Veronica shook her head. “None of us have really been able to believe that, even if that letter sort of outed her to everyone.”

“Outed who?” Betty said, still confused. She looked at Martha, who shrugged. 

“The girl Hard Harry accused of pimping out her friends and signing them up for rape,” Nora said. “That would be none other than the dearly departed Ms. Chandler.”

“What?”

“It wasn't like that,” Heather began, but Duke snorted.

“It was _exactly_ like that. We just were too afraid to call it that,” Duke said. “It was Heather, but she would just have denied it and made us back her up on it. She wouldn't have killed herself. It's not her. She was too strong for that. Too much of a bitch to die.”

“Heather,” Heather said in shock, but Duke just shook her head.

“I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I should be sorry she's dead, but I'm not, okay? I'm just... not.” Duke went back to eating, not looking at anyone.

“She could be pretty mean sometimes,” Heather said, uncomfortable. “She wasn't always mean, though, and those parties... it's not like that was all there was to her. She was more than that.”

“She was the envy of just about everyone in school,” Betty said, and Martha nodded. “I always thought she was so pretty and always so strong. I never was either of those things.”

“That is so not true,” almost everyone disagreed at once.

“The glasses are big, but they don't make you ugly,” Martha said. “At least you're not fat.”

“Who the hell cares if you have a few extra pounds?” Nora demanded. “They're idiots if they do.”

“Yeah. Some of us could do with a bit more weight,” Veronica agreed, giving a look to Duke, who ignored her for her pretzels. Heather almost wished she had some. She'd feel less awkward if she had something to focus on. “I mean it, Heather.”

“What does it look like I'm—Holy shit. There are two of them.”

Heather frowned, but then she looked where Duke was staring and saw the same thing. “Holy hell. Veronica, is that actually... real?”

Veronica nodded. “Yes.”

“Definitely real,” Nora said with a smile.

* * *

While Veronica had no qualms about rushing over to her boyfriend's side and throwing her arms around him, clinging onto him while he smiled at her like she was his whole world, Nora knew if she so much as said 'hello' to the boy standing next to him, he'd look for a place to hide. She still wanted to, since she wanted to tell him even more than she had last night.

And she didn't want him giving up Hard Harry because of Heather Chandler's death, either.

“Two of them,” Heather Duke repeated. “Heather's crazy theory wasn't that crazy.”

Nora frowned. “What?”

“Oh,” Heather McNamara said. “Chandler thought that Veronica's boyfriend had faked being new. That he was at the school for a while and then got out the trench coat and picked that fight.”

Right. Veronica had mentioned that one. “No, the one on the left is Mark Hunter. The one wrapped up in Veronica is Jason Dean.”

“Why do the twins have different names?” Martha asked, frowning. “Or am I missing something and they're not twins?”

“Cousins?” McNamara suggested. “They could be cousins.”

Nora left the others debating that and crossed over to Mark's side. He looked tense and nervous, even more than the last time she'd seen him or any other time she'd spoken to him. She doubted that was just about JD and Veronica's long and drawn out display of affection, too.

“Hey,” she said, and he looked at her with something close to horror. “Relax. I'm not planning on kissing you again. I just thought maybe you should get introduced around, since somehow, despite the fact that he's been here less than a week, they all know who he is and none of them know who you are.”

He shrugged, but she tugged him over by the hand, not accepting no for an answer.

“Mark, this is Betty Finn, Martha Dunnstock, Heather Duke, and Heather McNamara. Girls, this is Mark Hunter.”

“Hunter,” Duke said. “Why do I know that name?”

“Isn't that the name of the school commissioner?” McNamara asked, and Mark's face got red. Oh, that was beautiful. The son of the school commissioner was the rebel dj?

Nora loved it.

“Your dad actually has some interesting policies,” Betty Finn told him. “My father liked them. Said it was a good sign and progress, but I haven't seen much difference around school.”

“Um...”

“Mark's parents are pretty clueless when it comes to practical application of things, isn't that right, Mark?” JD said, and Mark nodded. “And you do remember how to breathe, right?”

Mark flipped him off, getting shocked looks from a couple girls and giggles from the rest of them. Nora liked that. It showed that side of him that was Hard Harry.

“Mark's parents told us—well, him—that Heather Chandler was dead and not much else,” JD said. “What have you heard?”

“That it was suicide,” Martha said. “Not much else.”

“My parents said they found her in her bed this morning, not breathing,” McNamara said, looking down at her hands. “She wasn't sick, so they're thinking suicide, maybe. Poison if it was.”

“If it was?” Mark asked, and JD shook his head.

“Don't even start. I told you—”

“What if it wasn't?” Veronica asked. “She wasn't the only one who stood to lose by that letter.”

“Shit.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group investigates the death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter really hard to do. It made me regret my plot and want to change things so I could go back and simplify things, as this story is already longer and more complicated than I expected. I had planned on the Westerburg suicides being what led to parent teacher meeting and the FCC looking for Hard Harry, but things got complicated when no one believed the suicide.
> 
> And then I had to change this chapter around, threw out two scenes, reorganized it, and still don't know that it's not as horrible as it was when I considered undoing the whole thing.

* * *

“Wait a minute,” Heather Duke said, setting down her snacks and standing up. She was more forceful than Heather McNamara had ever seen her before, and she wasn't so sure she liked it. She wasn't sure if Duke was just acting like Chandler or if she really was like that underneath the bulimia and the books. “You're talking about murder. You think someone actually killed Heather Chandler?”

“That really so hard to believe?” Veronica asked, folding her arms over her chest. She wasn't wearing blue today, Heather now noticed. Her dress was a lot like the one that girl Nora was wearing, and Chandler would have had plenty to say about that. “We were just talking about how much everyone hated her, and you said yourself you weren't sorry she's dead. She had plenty of enemies, including a lot of people who are standing here. Why is it so hard to believe someone killed Heather?”

“It's not, actually,” Betty said, looking sick. She sat down and took off her glasses, looking younger but also prettier than ever despite her pallor. “I just... I think it scares me that someone could have.”

“Yeah,” Martha said. She sat down next to Betty, and both of them looked so miserable Heather wanted to hug them. “I mean, she was pretty cruel and I kind of wished she was dead, too, but to think someone actually did that...”

“I know it doesn't make sense for her to have committed suicide, but maybe we're wrong about how strong she was,” Heather said, surprising herself. “Maybe we didn't know her as well as we thought we did. Some people seem stronger than they really are. She could still have committed suicide.”

“Well, one thing's for sure,” JD said, and all eyes went to him. He just had that sort of... presence. Like Chandler used to have, when she was alive. “We need more information.”

“That's sick. What is your damage, anyway?” Duke said with a frown. “Why would you want to know more about it? You obsessed with death or something and that's why you dress in black?”

JD rolled his eyes, and Veronica glared at Duke, moving toward her boyfriend. “Black is a valid color choice, even if Heather Chandler didn't think so. And JD is not obsessed with death. We all have questions about Heather's, and we need answers.”

“Yeah, but how are we going to get them?” Nora asked, blowing out some smoke. “Maybe if they hadn't canceled school we'd be hearing a lot more rumors, but they did. And most people won't tell us anything—we're just kids.”

JD looked at Mark. “Would your dad know more as the school commissioner?”

“Maybe,” Mark said, but he shook his head. “I don't think he'd tell me, though. One of those other bullshit things I'm too young to handle even though I'm a 'young man' now.”

Heather saw Betty and Martha frowning at his language. Heather was a bit surprised herself. He seemed so... quiet. Not the kind of kid that would swear like that.

“If he only knew,” JD said, and the other boy shook his head. “That the same for Mom the school nurse?”

Mark considered that. “She knows I'm not close to Heather, and she's been pretty worried about how I've been since the move, so probably. She wouldn't want to discuss anything... upsetting.”

“Yeah, they did seem to think you needed a shrink,” JD agreed, which had the other boy glaring back at him.

“What?”

Heather wasn't sure who asked that, but both boys ignored it, apparently having decided they were the only two in the garden somehow.

“We're going to need answers from somewhere,” JD said. “You need to prove it to yourself it was nothing to do with that letter, and I need to prove... well, you know what I need to prove—”

“I told you that I believed you,” Mark told him. “You don't have to—”

“Everyone else will think the same thing,” JD disagreed. “You have access to your dad's stuff, and you'd be able to get into anything he had, but that won't help us until later. And Hard Harry's not really much help, either. We need someone who can tell us what they do know.”

“I'm not the only one with parents,” Mark said. “What about finding a kid whose parents are connected to the police department?”

“None of us have that,” Veronica said, “but... we probably could get one of them talking if they did know something. I mean... they'd tell a Heather just about anything.”

“And the Heathers know these guys at the frat parties, right? So they could talk to them.”

“What?” Heather asked, horrified. “Oh, no. I am not speaking to any of them again. They wouldn't quit even after I told them about Ram.”

“You're dating Ram Sweeney?” JD asked, his voice full of disgust. “What a waste.”

“Hey,” Heather protested, feeling insulted. “I am not a waste—”

“You're wasted on him,” Nora said, moving closer to Mark as she spoke. “He's a jerk.”

“Ram can be very sweet.”

Duke snorted. “He isn't even sweet when he's trying to fuck you, Heather. You put up with way too much from him just because he's popular.”

Heather glared at her. “You're just jealous.”

“I am not. I have no interest in Ram Sweeney,” Duke insisted. “I don't think there's a decent boy at Westerburg, not that I want anyone from Remington, either.”

“Oh, I think there's a couple decent ones at Westerburg,” Veronica said, looking at the twins. Or cousins. No one had explained that yet, and Heather wasn't sure they would.

“Don't start in on your boyfriend again. You can't afford to kiss him and get distracted,” Duke told her. “If you're going to prove Heather's death wasn't suicide, you need to be working on it.”

“I don't know about this,” Betty said. “Maybe none of us should be involved in it. It's one thing to have questions about Heather's death. It's another to investigate it. What if she really was murdered? That person could hurt anyone else looking into it.”

“And maybe there was no murder,” Martha said, sounding almost hopeful. “Isn't that... better?”

“It might be,” Veronica said, twisting her lip and giving a look Mark before turning back to the rest of them. “We all need to know, don't we? How do we ignore the question now that we've asked it?”

“I wish I could,” Heather said, knowing she'd dream about Heather being murdered unless someone could prove she'd killed herself.

“So we'll find out, one way or another,” Nora said. “There's answers out there. We just have to look for them.”

“Well, looks like you've got Nancy Drew and the Hardy boys already,” Duke said. “So I guess now you can go solve yourselves a mystery.”

* * *

“I can't believe we're doing this,” Mark muttered, and JD fought the urge to flip him off. While it would be a change, he didn't want to make any extra noise or attract attention to what they were doing, and unbalancing himself on a ladder was not a good idea.

The whole thing was probably a bad idea, actually, though it was the only one they'd agreed on—more or less. Some of the more squeamish ones figured they could wait for information from the television and maybe Mark's dad, but JD didn't figure the news would have any real facts, and that was what they needed more than anything. If the police thought that Heather's death was a suicide, that meant they ignored any signs of a murder, if there were any. He didn't know why he wanted the girl's death to be murder so much. Martha was right in that it would have been better if it was suicide—for just about everyone but Mark, who would blame himself for Heather's death.

And it didn't help knowing that people had looked right at the proof of what his father had done to him and been able to ignore it. They'd seen the bruises and the scars and the broken bones and let his father go free.

He didn't trust the cops to actually spot a murder. Of course, if Heather's killer got away with it, maybe this was the best place for killing his father.

Of course, he didn't know that yet. He'd have to see what they really said about Heather.

And that meant getting into her room while Veronica and the Heathers distracted Chandler's parents with a condolence call. They had a mission, too, outside of that—Veronica was supposed to get as much information as possible from them, particularly about a suicide note—and he left that up to them to do, much as neither Heather was very happy with that plan.

Just like Mark wasn't thrilled about his, and JD figured if Betty and Martha hadn't been offered the opportunity to sit this out, they'd have run, maybe even ratted them out. He didn't want that to happen, especially since the only one with access to a vehicle large enough for all of them was Martha, whose parents had a van they used for their youth groups.

She hadn't been very sure about using it, either, but as there was a licensed driver and she got to stay with it and her friend Betty, she almost calmed down. Nora was supposed to do the rest, even if JD could tell she would rather be doing something else.

He forced himself to ignore it, opening the window and slipping inside. He waited, taking in the room as he waited for his brother to finish his own climb. He'd insisted on having Mark with him despite suggestions that having one of the twins downstairs would confuse the parents if they managed to come up and see the other up here.

It was a nice theory, but Mark's trouble speaking to strangers would make the whole thing awkward as hell, and JD knew he had to be the one to see the room. He wished he could have Veronica here to look with him, but she had to be the distraction. He didn't trust the other Heathers with that.

Mark forced himself in through the window. “I can't believe you do that every night at Veronica's.”

JD shrugged. “It's not that bad when you're used to it. I'm just glad you didn't fall right in front of the window and make a bunch of noise.”

“I'm only clumsy when it comes to talking,” Mark snapped, looking irritated. “What are you hoping to find that the police didn't?”

“Not sure,” JD admitted. “With my mom... well, she had all her stuff put away. Neat and orderly. She knew she wasn't coming back, so she packed her suitcase like we were leaving again, put all her cosmetics away in the bag... He didn't have much trouble getting rid of her stuff. Almost like she was never there in the first place.”

Mark winced. He looked like he wanted to do something, say something, but he didn't. He went over to the closet, taking a look inside the door. “I'm not sure you can assume that everyone who commits suicide puts all of their stuff in order like that. And this probably isn't proof.”

JD nodded. “Looks more like Chandler was too lazy to hang up most of her dresses. Remind me to ask Veronica if they had a maid.”

“I'd assume so,” Mark said. “Heather doesn't strike me as the type who got her hands dirty.”

“No, she just expected others to do it for her,” JD said, sure of that. She seemed every bit pampered and spoiled. Would she really have taken her own life? It didn't seem to fit. “The closet is a mess, but most of this place is clean. Makes me wonder if the maid found her after doing some cleaning, if Heather was a deep sleeper.”

“You may be taking this idea of Hardy Boys a bit... far,” Mark said. “We don't know enough about Heather or suicide to get any real answers. Should have brought Nora along.”

“You do realize you wouldn't be alone with her, and from what I can tell, you still have trouble talking to her even if I'm in the same room.”

Mark shook his head in frustration. “It's not about that. Nora may as well be your Nancy Drew. She figured it out. She knows who I am.”

JD frowned, looking back from Heather's dressing table. “Everyone does now, Marky boy. The twins thing is no longer a secret.”

“She knows about me being Hard Harry.”

That almost made JD close the drawer on his fingers. “She does? How the hell does she know that? I only know because I walked in on your broadcast, but by the time she showed up, you were done and you had everything put away.”

Mark shook his head. “I don't know how she figured it out. She found me that day on the steps and asked me if I was. I didn't say anything, but then she caught me later with mail from the mailbox. She knows.”

Damn. That made things complicated, but it also explained why Mark seemed even more awkward with that girl than he was with anyone else. Still, if she'd managed to figure that out, maybe it was a good thing they had her on their side.

Though... Veronica would be a bit mad that Nora knew about Mark and Hard Harry and she didn't.

JD heard something and turned back behind him, frowning in disbelief as Nora climbed in the window. One of those speak of the devil moments, and one bound to make things a lot worse. Mark had already tensed up, and he probably would have run if she wasn't blocking the window. She took in the room and let out a low whistle.

“So this is the lion's den.”

“What do you think you're doing?” JD demanded. “You shouldn't be here. The more people in this room, the more likely it is that we'll get discovered, and we can't afford that.”

“And how many girl's bedrooms have the two of you been in?” Nora asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Just one, right? Veronica's? How are you going to know what's out of place in a girl's bedroom when you're not a girl?”

Mark put a hand to his head, rubbing it like he had a headache.

“You might have a point,” JD said. He wished he'd been able to get Veronica up here. She'd know what was missing. That would help.

“Besides, I found this in the van, and it might help even more,” Nora said, holding up a camera. “This way we can get pictures of everything in here, and you can ask the Heathers and Veronica if anything seems to be missing.”

“She's good,” JD told Mark, who gave him a look. “He was saying you were the real Nancy Drew around here.”

Nora looked at Mark, who was now pretending that the carpet was fascinating. “I bet.”

“Just take the pictures so we can get out of here,” Mark said. Then he grimaced. “Oh, and someone's going to have to look under that bed.”

* * *

Veronica knew the moment Mrs. Chandler opened the door that she was on something. Her eyes were glassy, and while it would have been nice to think they were tears, this wasn't the first time Veronica had seen Heather's mother high. She'd actually felt a bit sorry for her once, since her mother only seemed to function on Valium.

It hadn't lasted long. Heather made sure of that.

Veronica forced that conversation out of her mind, trying to smile politely at Mrs. Chandler as she invited them to sit.

“We just wanted to tell you how sorry we were,” McNamara began, and it was a good thing that she did it, because Veronica wasn't sure that it would have seemed like anything but a lie from her or Heather Duke. “About Heather. It's just so hard to believe.”

Mrs. Chandler nodded. “I know. I haven't been able to think it was real. My baby just can't be gone. She can't be.”

Veronica looked at her, finding it hard to believe her or have any kind of sympathy for her, even if Heather was dead. If she was sober or Heather were alive, she wouldn't be calling Heather her baby. She hated her daughter, and Heather hated her. Maybe in time they'd have gotten over it, but this was a far cry from the last time she'd seen Mrs. Chandler.

“We're all in shock,” Veronica said instead. “It... It's so unlike her. It's hard to believe... Did she say anything? Was there... a note?”

Both of the Heathers looked at her. She ignored them. They needed to know this. If Heather left a note, that was really all they needed to know, wasn't it? They could call it a suicide and end all the questions and this crazy idea of investigating.

Except... Veronica wasn't sure a note was enough.

“No. She had a copy of a book that they said was practically a note, but I didn't see one. Not that I could really look. She was just so... still.” Mrs. Chandler reached for a drink, and Veronica wouldn't be surprised if her glass was full of strong liquor. “She looked like she was sleeping.”

So no marks, then. No sign of a struggle. Could it have been poison?

“Do they know what she took?”

“They just said they thought it was poison,” Mrs. Chandler shook her head. “Pills I could understand, but poison? Who would ever think that poison was a good idea? I thought Heather was smarter than that.”

“Did they... do they know what kind of poison it was?” Veronica asked, getting another look from the Heathers. She ignored it. It wasn't that strange a question. People would be curious.

“Not that they told me. I don't get to know. I'm only the mother.”

That had Heather McNamara frowning. “Does that mean they told your husband?”

Mrs. Chandler shrugged. “I don't know. It's so nice of you all to come by, though. I thought no one would. They wouldn't want to discuss it. They wouldn't know what to say. They wouldn't... Oh, girls. It's so good of you to be friends with my daughter...”

Veronica exchanged a look with the other two girls. This was going to be a long conversation.

* * *

Nora knelt down beside the bed. She'd volunteered to look, knowing that even if one of the boys found something under Heather's bed, they might not recognize the importance of it. That, and Mark had gotten all weird again as soon as she showed up. She didn't know what it was about him—if he was around JD, he seemed quite capable of talking and acting like anyone did, but if he wasn't dealing with his brother, then it seemed like he just... shut down somehow.

“Hey,” JD said, and she could see his coat moving across the floor as she tried to reach for the box she'd just grazed with her fingers. “What is it? You hurting again?”

“No, I just... You know there's a good chance there's nothing to find here,” Mark said, sounding worried. “We might have done all this for nothing.”

“Yeah, but we needed to know, and sitting around wouldn't have helped anyone,” JD insisted. “Veronica might have more answers, but if Heather's death wasn't a suicide, we're not going to find proof with the cops.”

“I know you don't trust them, and I don't blame you for that, but I—”

“You worry too much, Mark.”

“I'm not sure you worry enough at all,” Mark told him. “And yes, that worries me.”

Nora had the uncomfortable feeling that if either of them realized that she was there, they'd be upset. She didn't want to call any attention to herself, though she finally got the box, pulling it out and taking the top off. She started rummaging through the pictures and the papers. Were these the Remington boys? She recognized the Heathers but not these other girls.

She did, however, recognize what they were doing.

“Oh, boys?” Nora called, getting them to look over at her. “I think I found your motive.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They regroup, find part of the puzzle, and then things get a bit complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get up to the part where they had the parent teacher meeting, as that's a big part of things, but I had to take a moment to stop and consider the options I had and where exactly I wanted the plot with Heather to go, finally settling on one that made a bit of sense to me in the worst, warped way possible, as my brain is wont to do.
> 
> I was trying to find out when one hour photo became a thing, since I couldn't remember a time without that, and the internet so helpfully kept trying to give me a movie instead, but I did find there was an overnight service provided by Fotomat (and I'm now tempted to go rewatch _Back to the Future_ to see if one of them was in there) and I opted for that as it was an option when this is supposed to take place.
> 
> I keep wanting to write people getting texts with information, though. :P
> 
> Also, I did not research extensively into whether or not any of the other characters could have had or did have siblings, but I went ahead and added some in for some of the other characters. Since we never see their homes, we don't know if they didn't have them. It worked, and this is already AU, so... I'm keeping them. They won't have big parts, but they did get a mention.

* * *

“Is that... a lizard?” Heather Duke asked, sounding very uncomfortable and crowding one end of the couch. Veronica had gone straight for the hamster, taking it out of its cage and cooing at it, which JD seemed to find absolutely adorable because he couldn't take his eyes off her. Martha and Betty seem as uncomfortable as Duke, though for other reasons, as Nora had picked up the lizard and was letting it walk up her arm while Mark did his own staring, more in disbelief.

Heather wasn't so sure she would have touched either of them, and she missed her bird again.

“It is, just don't ask me to feed it,” Nora said, stroking under the lizard's chin. “Still, Harry's pretty cute, all things considered.”

Mark frowned at her, really looking like he didn't believe her, before going over to tug on JD's coat. “Tell me again why it had to be here.”

“Because you're the only one with lots of space and no parents likely to invade. Veronica's garden is nice, but her parents were home and still hate me, even if they've relaxed visitation because Heather died. Betty and Martha share bedrooms at their homes, Nora's room is nice but cluttered, according to three sources, Heather Duke has... what was it again?”

“Brothers,” Duke said with a grimace. “Annoying asshole younger brothers who never give a minute's peace, especially if the parents aren't around.”

Heather nodded. She'd experienced the hell that was Heather Duke's younger brothers, and she could see on Martha's face she remembered them as well—if she wasn't mistaken, they started the Dumptruck thing, not Kurt or Ram or anyone else on the football team.

“My mother doesn't work,” Heather said, knowing they'd ask her next. And it was true, her mother didn't work and was always in asking about stuff, even when she had no idea what Heather wanted or needed. They used to spend afternoons at Heather Chandler's until Veronica joined them, and then it always seemed to be about croquet in her garden.

“So you're the only one with space whose parents aren't here to interrupt,” JD told Mark, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. “That, and we might get something from your parents' connections to the school system.”

“It makes sense to regroup here,” Veronica agreed, looking up from the hamster. “Even if we are invading your privacy a little, Mark.”

“Someone should,” Duke muttered. “Like a maid? This room is so teenage boy.”

Mark frowned, but JD just snorted. “And what would you know about that, Duke? Your brothers are prepubescent, and I'm guessing you spent more time in Remington frat rooms than any high schooler's bedroom.”

She flipped him off, and he grinned, blowing smoke back at her. Mark shook his head, going to his desk and picking up a cigarette of his own. Nora tapped him on the arm, and he gave her one, too. Heather thought it was interesting that they'd split like they had—non-smokers on the couch, smokers standing—and hadn't even thought about it until now.

“All right, now that we've actually settled, let's discuss what we know.”

“This is so strange,” Betty said. “Like... we're some kind of secret club and meeting about murder and it's so hard to believe we're doing this.”

“I don't know,” Martha said, “I always wanted to be like the Boxcar children, solving mysteries and stuff. Remember, Heather?”

Duke tensed, but she nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

Heather thought maybe it might be nice if Duke and Martha got to be friends again, real friends. She didn't know, but it got kind of quiet and awkward after that for a bit until JD spoke again.

“So, for those of us that weren't in the room with Heather's mother, what did we learn?”

Veronica leaned against him, still holding the hamster. “She didn't leave a note, and they think poison but don't know which one.”

JD nodded. “Still sounds more like murder to me.”

“Are you some kind of expert on that?” Duke asked, frowning. “Wait, you haven't actually—”

“JD did not kill anyone,” Veronica said. “Though... his mom did kill herself, so he knows a bit about suicide.”

“Oh,” Heather whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not—just forget it. She wasn't really my mom anyway,” JD said, and Veronica wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight. He leaned against her, taking the support she offered him.

“Um,” Betty began, her voice a bit timid. “Does that mean... I mean...”

“Can someone explain the two of you?” Martha finished for her. “If she wasn't really your mother, does that mean that Mark's mother is or—”

“No. We're both adopted,” JD said, not looking up from Veronica. Mark suddenly found his desk fascinating, not looking at anyone. “Neither of us knew before, either, and that also doesn't matter.”

“It might, a lot more than you think,” Nora said, reaching out to touch Mark's arm. He looked at her and took the lizard from her, saying nothing.

“We're supposed to be figuring out what happened to Heather,” JD said. “It's not about me or Mark. Right now, it still looks a lot like murder, especially after what you found under her bed.”

“What?” Duke asked, going a bit pale. “What's was under her bed?”

“Plenty of reasons why she might be dead,” Nora said. “She had pictures of those Remington parties... and a lot of other things, too.”

* * *

“Wow,” Duke said, picking up a picture like she wanted to show it to everyone in the room. Mark hadn't really thought he needed to see them, and since they were of other Sherwood residents, neither he or JD knew enough of them to be much help. “I knew Lindsay was a slut, but damn.”

“I kind of feel sick,” Betty said, turning away from the picture she'd just uncovered. “I didn't even know people could do that, and I'm a bit sorry now that I do. That doesn't look... pleasant.”

“Definitely not how I'd do it,” JD said, giving Veronica a look that had her flushing red. Mark had a feeling if they weren't looking at dirty pictures Heather Chandler kept as blackmail, that might have led to something just as dirty with the two of them.

“How many of these things are there?” McNamara asked, looking a bit queasy as she did.

“I think that's all of the developed ones,” Duke said. “What about negatives?”

Nora held up a stack. “I'm not sure if they're all the same, but we should probably get them done so we can find out.”

“Agreed,” JD said. “Probably should have dropped them off before coming here—”

“I only barely looked at the pictures, grabbed the box, and we took off, remember?” Nora said. “I mean, now we know Mrs. Chandler was so drugged up we probably could have spent hours there and no one would have noticed, but we were in a bit of a hurry.”

“I think we also expected, with all of this here, that we'd find a clear suspect,” Veronica said, lifting up a picture with a disgust. “And while some of them are sick, I'm not so sure anyone would kill over them.”

“No, we just want to die of embarrassment,” McNamara whispered. “I can't believe she has that one of me and Ram. I never... It's just...”

“She was a bitch, okay?” Duke said. “I'm not surprised at all.”

“Except there's no pictures here of you,” JD pointed out, and Duke flushed, getting indignant.

“You think _I_ killed Heather?” Duke demanded. “Just because there's no pictures of me doesn't mean I killed her and took them. What about you? It's not like it was any secret she hated you. She had made it her mission to wreck your relationship with Veronica and would love to have seen you arrested for something, anything, if she could have. You wanted her dead. Admit it.”

“I did,” JD said, not backing down from the accusation. “I really did, but I didn't kill her.”

“And we're just supposed to take your word for that?” Duke asked. “Where were you last night? Do you have anyone who can say you were home? I do.”

Mark swallowed. He knew if their positions were reversed, JD would already have spoken up to defend him against the accusation. He started to say something, even if he couldn't be sure that JD had been here all night. “He was—”

“Mark, are you in there?” his mother called from the hallway and he heard himself swear. “Mark?”

“Yeah, what?” he asked, moving toward the door, well aware if he didn't, she just open it, and he couldn't actually remember if he'd locked it earlier.

“Did you know Paige Woodward?”

“Did I—what happened to Paige?” he asked, feeling his throat try to close up on him. “She's not dead, too, is she?”

God, this was so out of control. He should never have done any of this. The show, the letters—real or fake—none of it.

“She's in the hospital. Come upstairs, please. We need to talk.”

“I'll be a minute,” Mark told her, feeling a bit queasy himself. He waited for her to go away, leaning against the wall as he tried to calm himself down.

JD came up next to him. “You going to make it?”

He nodded. “I... Fine. Just... nauseous.”

“Look at me,” JD said before he put a hand under Mark's chin and forced him to look up. “Well, the makeup's okay, I guess. You look a bit yellow by that shiner of yours, which doesn't help, but she probably won't notice.”

“Okay.”

“Mark, this isn't your fault. None of it is.”

“What I said—”

“They still had a choice, damn it, so stop thinking they didn't choose it no matter what you said,” JD told him. “You need me to do this for you?”

That was the coward's way out. He should be able to face this, whatever it was, whatever he'd done. Not that he wanted to stay behind with the others, either. He'd choke up and have no explanation for any of this with all of them thinking now that maybe it was him and not JD even if he hadn't actually gone anywhere last night.

“If I can get upstairs without puking, I'll be fine,” Mark told him. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

JD nodded. “Okay. Just remember to breathe.”

* * *

“You two are so cute,” Duke said, and JD gave her the finger. Veronica walked over to him, aware he was very worried and not about Heather's accusations, though that probably didn't help anything. She'd never thought, even for a second, that JD had done anything to Heather after he dropped her off last night.

Still, she knew others would, including her parents, if they were to tell anyone that Heather's death was probably murder. He'd be their first suspect, and she couldn't let them do that to him when he was innocent.

“No, really,” Duke went on. “It's so adorable the way you fuss and all you share. I mean, doing each other's makeup, really? I thought that was a girl thing, but with you two—”

“Shut up, Heather,” Veronica said. “Mark's wearing makeup because he was attacked by Ram and Kurt on Monday. It's to cover the bruises, not because either of them is gay or whatever else you might have been implying.”

“Ram and Kurt hurt him?” McNamara asked, frowning. “But... how? Why? He's so quiet... He barely talks at all and seems like... well, compared to JD, like a sweetheart.”

JD gave her a wry smile, and she flushed a little. “Your asshole boyfriend did it because he and Kurt assumed Mark was me.”

“Oh.” She lowered her head. “I knew they wanted revenge, and I told Veronica that, but it seemed like you were okay.”

“I'm fine,” JD said. “Mark's not. Not only does he tend to think everything's his fault for no reason at all, he's still covered in bruises and everything in his life went to shit after he met me, so... whatever, right? Damn it, I need a cigarette.”

“You can probably blame Heather for that, too,” Duke said, and JD looked over at her, frowning. “Mark getting attacked. She was really ticked off by what Courtney said Monday about that Miss Perfect letter or the Eat Me, Beat Me ones being hers, and she went and egged Ram and Kurt on because she was convinced you were Hard Harry.”

Veronica frowned. “As much as I'm sure we all had that same thought once or twice, JD just got here that day he was suspended. He couldn't have been Hard Harry.”

“Except Heather thought she'd seen JD before—we know now that was Mark—and he'd faked the whole dark side thing with the trench coat and dyed hair,” Duke said. “She was sure he made the whole thing up and was Hard Harry, and you know she hated him.”

“JD isn't Hard Harry,” Nora said, and Veronica nodded, though she had to wonder if Nora's confidence there wasn't just about JD being newly arrived in Sherwood. “He was in the convenience store flirting with Veronica Friday night when Harry was on, and if Heather was smart, she'd have remembered that, too.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have a Walkman and get the munchies,” Nora said, shrugging. “I saw you two flirting that night. It wasn't something I needed to mention before, but Heather should have known better.”

Duke shook her head. “It wouldn't have mattered. She was sure JD and Hard Harry were the same person, and no one was going to convince her otherwise. Part of her whole need to sabotage their relationship came from that—and all because Courtney was using those letters to undermine her position.”

“Well, there's a bit of irony in here somewhere,” JD muttered, looking over at the door as it opened and Mark came back in. “That was quick.”

“I'm supposed to change. My father's heading that parent teacher meeting tonight at the school, and I have to go,” Mark said. He swallowed. “Paige Woodward blew up her kitchen last night during the broadcast. Put her trophies and everything in the microwave and let it burn.”

“Wow,” Martha said, biting her lip. “And I thought I went crazy last night.”

“Me, too,” Betty said. “But cutting up a dress... that's not the same thing as blowing up a kitchen. That's scary.”

“Never would have thought Paige would do something like that,” McNamara said. “She always seemed so... perfect.”

“She probably was the one that wrote the Miss Perfect letter,” Nora said. “And I hate to say it, but I kind of wanted to see her fall off that pedestal of hers. She was so... irritating in her perfection.”

Mark didn't look at her, focusing instead on JD. “Like I said, I have to go.”

“You kicking us out, then?” Duke asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“We need to get that film developed,” Veronica said. “We might be able to get it in to the Fotomat before they close, and then we can pick it up tomorrow.”

“I think my parents would probably want me to be home,” Betty said. “Unless they go to that meeting, too.”

“Mine won't,” Martha said, shaking her head. “They don't like crowds.”

“Ours probably will,” McNamara told Duke, who grimaced but nodded. Both families were pretty prominent in the area, so they'd have to make an appearance, just like Mark and his parents did. “They won't want us there, though.”

“We should go anyway,” Veronica said, and everyone looked at her. She shrugged. “We all know that people are going to say a lot of stuff that's not true. We're all pretty sure Heather was murdered, even if we can't prove it yet—”

“We're also not dumb enough to tell them that,” Duke said, shaking her head. “And if you try it while I'm there, I'm going to stop you, I swear.”

“—and while we should probably keep that to ourselves until we can prove it, we can't let them run with it because they'll blame everything on Harry,” Veronica finished. “They blame him for Malcolm, right? And if they blame him for that, they'll blame him for Heather. And Paige.”

“Fuck,” JD swore, and she figured that just about summed it up for all of them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big meeting about Hard Harry happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a lot of liberties with the meeting. I wanted to include the Heathers characters, for one, and I did a few other things as well.
> 
> I was thinking about it, though, and I don't remember any other kids at the meeting, just Mark and Paige, so when he later talks about the meeting that's about him, he gives himself away. It's not a clear indication that it's him, but as he was the only kid there... it should have made more people think.
> 
> And then I wanted to include a bit of what happens after, since it was kind of leading up to this, too...

* * *

“We have to do something about this,” Veronica said, and Heather frowned, not sure why she thought they were going to change anything. “We have to go to that meeting. Not to tell them about Heather maybe being murdered, but we can tell them the truth—this wasn't Harry's fault.”

“It's got nothing to do with us,” Duke disagreed. “We don't have any obligation to defend him.”

“Don't we?” Betty asked, looking around at everyone else. “We all listen to him. Everyone here does. We all heard what he said last night, and it wasn't something encouraging suicide.”

“It was the opposite,” Martha said. “He told us to get crazy but that was so we wouldn't kill ourselves. And he was right. It helped.”

Heather wasn't so sure she felt what she'd done had helped, but then she was still worried about her bird. “I didn't think that Serious guy would kill himself, either.”

“He's not dead,” JD said. “And even if he was—”

“It's not like it matters,” Mark said. “Hard Harry won't go on again after this anyway.”

“You don't know that,” Duke told him, but he just shook his head and went for the door. Nora rushed over and blocked him.

“He can't give up just because a few idiots want to ignore their part in what's happening and put it all on him,” Nora said. “It's not his fault, and he deserves better than this.”

“Let it go,” Mark told her, walking out of the room and shutting the door in her face. She glared at it, about ready to yank it open when JD touched her arm.

“Save it for the meeting.”

“Wait,” Duke said. “You're actually going? I thought we agreed that we weren't.”

“I'm not,” JD said. “I'm second highest on their shit list—trench coat kid and preacher of all things violent and unwholesome—or so I've been told. And while it might be hilarious in some respects to freak Mark's parents out over the fact that there's two of us, especially in public—”

“God, you are an asshole.”

“Stow it, Duke.”

“—we need to make sure they don't start a lynch mob for Harry first,” JD finished, voice louder than anyone's at the end. “Yeah, I've seen that. Never want to see it again. Ronnie—”

“I'm going to the meeting. My parents will be there, I'm sure, so I can tag along with them, I guess. Not sure I'll be able to do anything afterward, but I'm going,” Veronica told him, and he gave her a smile before taking her into his arms again.

Heather frowned. Why was saving Hard Harry so important to everyone? To JD? She hadn't thought he could care about much of anything, except... well, there was Veronica.

“I think we should all go to the meeting,” Nora said, turning to Martha and Betty. “We'll drop off the negatives first—we need to develop the ones from Heather's room, too, so that Veronica and the other Heathers can see if anything's missing, and we'll go to the meeting after that.”

“All of us?” Betty squeaked a bit. “I don't know—”

“I'll go,” Martha said. “Harry actually... well, he tried to help me specifically once, and I owe him.”

“Heather?”

“I suppose I could make an appearance,” Duke said. “Just... don't expect me to say anything.”

* * *

“On behalf of myself and the staff of Westerburg High, I would like to thank you for turning out in such numbers,” Mrs. Creswood began, and Veronica made a face. She really didn't like that woman, but she didn't know anyone who did. “I congratulate you on your concerns. Now, before we begin, I would like to introduce our new school commissioner, fresh from several educational triumphs on the East Coast—Brian Hunter.”

The man in the back with the glasses and sweater raised a hand, and Veronica frowned, trying to get a good look at him. It was a strange thing to think of him as Mark's dad, even if she'd never met JD's. She looked down in the crowd for him, finding him next to the woman who must have been his mother, one of few students there.

“Before I introduce the rest of our speakers—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Creswood,” one of the other parents said, rising. “Can we just skip the preliminaries and find out what you're doing about all this?”

Creswood seemed a bit flustered, making Veronica smile. “Well, when I introduce Mr. Deaver, he'll talk about our new twenty-four hour hotline—”

“Wait a minute,” a woman interrupted. “The kids who need the most help, the ones with drug problems, they don't go in for stuff like that. I know kids. They just want to be happy.”

“Would you please sit down?” Creswood asked, and Veronica was enjoying her looking so flustered. She deserved it.

“This radio person is the whole problem,” a different woman said, standing up and looking around the room. “Are we gonna allow this guy to be heard by anyone who can turn a dial?”

Mark slumped down in his seat. He clearly did not want to be here, not that Veronica could blame him for that. She hadn't wanted to, either, but she knew someone had to stand up for Hard Harry here, and it wouldn't be any of their parents.

“Please, one at a time,” Creswood said, and Veronica saw Fleming to the side, eager to jump in and take over for her.

“I work with teenage gangs in the city,” a third man said, standing up, angrier than the last two. “I say we go after this guy. Remove him physically.”

Shit. Veronica had thought JD was wrong about the lynch mob idea, but that guy had plenty of people interested in what he was saying.

“People, people, please,” Fleming said as she came forward. “What we need here is not hostility but healing. We should—”

“Hippie bullshit. What we need is action. We need to find this little asshole and string him up—”

“Please,” Creswood said, talking over a now offended Fleming. “We can't have this kind of meeting.” 

“This is not the way—violence is not the way,” Hunter said. “Hold on. You'll all be heard. I promise.”

“Brian, this is my meeting,” Creswood said, and Veronica found herself flipping the woman off. At least Mark's father had _tried_ to calm things down.

They were about to explode again, though, since Paige had made her way to the podium, silencing everyone who knew who she was, looking like hell with a dark bruise on her face and a hideous bandage. She'd broken her nose. “My name is Paige Woodward, and I have something to say to you people. People are saying Harry is introducing bad things and encouraging bad things. It seems to me these things were already here.”

Creswood tried to take hold of her, Fleming on the other side. “Please go and sit.”

“My God, why don't you people listen?” Paige demanded. “He's trying to tell you there's something wrong with this place. With this school.”

“Paige—”

“Half the people here are on probation of some kind. We're all really scared to be who we really are. I am not perfect,” Paige said, and Veronica felt sure she had written that letter. “I've just been going through the motions of being perfect, and inside, I am _screaming.”_

“Paige, you were a model student,” Creswood said, and Fleming started to lead her away, talking in her ear and making the girl shake her head in disgust. “It's clear to me that this Hard Harry is a terrible influence—”

“No, he's not,” Martha said, standing up and surprising everyone. “He told everyone how wrong it was for them to laugh and me and make fun of my weight. Not that you care. You let them. You let them get away with all of it.”

“Miss Dumptruck—”

“Dunnstock!” Duke shouted, standing up. “Her name is Dunnstock, not Dumptruck. Even you don't have that right, bitch.”

“Young lady, I will have you removed—”

“What, for the crime of speaking our minds?” Veronica demanded. “That's what you all want to condemn, isn't it? It isn't about what Harry said because if you listened to him, really listened, you'd know he wasn't doing any of the things you're accusing him of, and Paige is right—he _is_ pointing out what's wrong here.”

“I will not tolerate this kind of behavior from any of you,” Creswood warned. “You will all be removed and—”

“You can't remove all of us,” Nora said. “You can't make us all disappear, though I'm sure you want to. You'd like for all of our little non-conformist ways to disappear. Only the ones who appear perfect on paper can exist in your little world. Well, guess what? We're not perfect. Even Paige isn't perfect.”

“This is not about me,” Creswood said. “You've clearly been misled. This dj promotes promiscuity and violence and suicide—”

“No, you've got it all wrong.” That one came from Heather McNamara, another surprise. “He told us to get crazy so we wouldn't kill ourselves. So we'd have some way of dealing with what we felt that no one saw. That you are standing there telling us we don't feel. You want us to deny our pain and be perfect. We're not perfect. I'm supposed to be cheer captain, and I'm not. My boyfriend is a pig who beats up other kids, but I'm supposed to be happy with him because he plays football. My parents are getting a divorce. And it feels like the only one who understands at all is a voice on the radio. You can't take that away from us, not when you won't give us anything in exchange.”

“We've got a hotline and Ms. Fleming is organizing—”

“What does any of that matter if you won't listen to us?” Veronica asked, folding her arms over her chest. “You want to bury Harry's show because he points out the flaws in your perfect system. He wasn't promoting violence—he was pointing out the hypocrisy all of you showed in suspending one of the kids in the fight but letting the other two off without even a warning because they play football and had a game the next day.”

Mr. Hunter frowned in the back. “Is that true? I thought you said all the students involved were punished, not just one of them.”

“I hardly think this is the time or place to discuss that,” Creswood said. “I'm sure that this other student's records will reflect that he had multiple prior infractions—”

“Bullshit,” Veronica said. “It was his first day of school. That's what his records will show.”

“Young lady, if you're going to cause a disturbance over your boyfriend, you can be removed. You are just as biased as—”

“Hold on, Ms. Creswood,” Hunter said, taking control of the situation. “I think we need to take a step back, let everyone calm down, and address each of these points. I'm not saying we won't do something about this radio show, but there is more than just our side as parents to consider.”

“Oh?” One of the first parents to speak demanded. “And what would you do if it was your son being influenced by this radio show?”

“I'd hope that we could discuss it,” Hunter said. “Though I think Mark will admit that we've had some trouble talking lately.”

Mark lowered his head, not looking at his father.

“Whether or not to remove this radio show is ultimately not up to us,” Hunter went on. “We as parents can limit our children's access to it, but removing it from the air will be the responsibility of the proper authorities.”

“Mr. Hunter—”

“Shut up, Creswood,” the angry father said, and Veronica figured the whole room was grateful for that, since she was not helping anyone. “You say it's up to the police. What the hell are we supposed to do about things until then? Nothing?”

“The last thing we want is more kids getting hurt,” Hunter said. “And since at this point all anyone knows or suspects about this dj is that he goes to this school, if you go hunting for him, you'll end up with a lot of kids being hurt for no reason. People will attack anyone they assume is the dj, and our problems will be a lot worse.”

“I'm not going to sit around and let this guy influence my kid,” the man said. “I'm going to do something about it.”

“And I understand your need to do that,” Hunter told him. “I just don't want to see anyone else hurt. I don't think any of us does.”

* * *

“Should have known they wouldn't really listen,” Martha said, sounding depressed. She'd spoken up and gotten hurt for it, though Nora thought it was great that Duke, of all people, had stood up for her when they had her name wrong.

“We still did something,” Veronica said, though she hadn't made a move to start the van yet. “I think if we hadn't gone, things would have been a lot worse, and I don't just mean for Harry.”

“They're still going to try and shut him down,” Betty said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “We didn't manage to do anything.”

Veronica sighed. “I know, but it's better to have said something, isn't it? If we'd sat back and done nothing, maybe that guy who wanted to bring together gang kids would have gone after Harry instead, and that would have been a mess.”

More than you know, Nora thought, since Mark had a twin and that could mean all sorts of trouble. Still, the more she thought about his father's words in there, the more she was convinced that he wasn't going to go on tonight, just like he'd said before the meeting.

“Yeah, at least we stopped the gang,” Martha said. “Though I really should get home. I'm not sure my parents will be happy about me using the van... or that I was there tonight.”

“You think they'd be okay with you staying with me tonight?” Betty asked. “I don't think any of us should be alone right now.”

“Well, the Heathers might have to be, since their parents took them home,” Veronica said. “And I think I'm going to be in some trouble myself, though since my parents weren't there, it'll be a while. And I could probably fool them into thinking I was with one of the Heathers, too.”

Nora thought about Mark, sitting there and hearing all of those things about Harry, and her mind came to only one conclusion. “I have to go.”

“We can drop you at your house—”

“No, I don't want to go home,” Nora said, reaching for the door. She couldn't go home yet. “There's someone I have to talk to first.”

* * *

“How'd it go?” JD asked, looking up as Mark came in. His brother didn't answer, going to his desk and gathering up papers. He took them over to the door with him, going outside. JD frowned, following him out. The night was pleasant yet, but he hadn't bothered going out after everyone left.

It was boring as hell, but he'd had Heather's box for company and sorted through it while he waited for any word. Some of those pictures might have had stories behind them, though most of them didn't seem quite worth killing over.

Then again, he'd put up with a lot from his dad that he shouldn't have and probably should have killed him years ago.

He shook that off, watching Mark put the papers on the grill. He poured lighter fluid on them and then lit a match, starting the stack on fire.

“So it was bad, then.”

Mark glared at him. “What, you think just because the girls were there everything was great? Those parents want to string me up from the nearest tree. I killed them. Malcolm and Heather. Everyone thinks I did. That I corrupted Paige, too. I did that to her face and—”

“You didn't,” JD said, not sure how to convince Mark of that. “Those people are idiots. They want to blame you so they don't have to take any responsibility for what's wrong with their kids. They don't think they have to, when we both know it's the parents that do most of the damage. Kids at school just finish it off.”

Mark shook his head. “If you'd heard any of that—”

“Maybe I should have gone. I could have made that meeting really interesting,” JD said, and Mark gave him another glare, though weaker this time. “I know. It's not funny. Not really. It just makes this whole thing more fucked up.”

“I can't do this,” Mark said. “It's not just you and me and not being able to talk to my parents about it or Heather being murdered or them wanting to lynch me or—”

“It's all of it,” JD said, knowing that feeling all too well. Between his father and the stuff at school, his mom and a lot of other things, he'd wanted to buckle under and give up a long time ago. He hadn't really known why he was still fighting until he met Veronica, though Mark was probably the reason the universe would give him. He was supposed to make it this far so he'd know the truth about his family and meet his brother.

“It's never going to get better, is it?”

“I think we just trade old problems for new ones, yeah, but I was figuring on eighteen being better if I managed to live that long.”

Mark sighed. “We have to do something about your dad, too.”

“I'm more worried about you right now,” JD admitted. He was. Mark might not have been getting knocked around, but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting, and if JD was having a hard time with the adoption thing—sometimes, it was mostly a relief—then Mark must have it ten times worse. “One crisis at a time, okay? First we deal with Heather's death, then the rest of it.”

Mark looked back at the grill. “I have to finish this.”

“You gonna burn all of them?”

“Yes.”

JD didn't bother talking him out of it. If Mark felt better doing it, then he should. A few of them might have been worth keeping, but it wasn't like Mark could afford to hold onto them if the lynch mob was coming.

“You can't shut it down without saying anything, you know that, right?”

Mark lowered his head. “What do you want from me, JD? I'm not... I fucked up. I thought this was a way to help with all the stuff in my head, that darkness and pain and I didn't think... I didn't think about what it would do to anyone else, even when I got letters. I needed it for me.”

“And you still do, idiot. You think I don't envy you this maybe a little? I don't have anywhere for that dark shit to go. If Veronica knew the stuff I really thought about, she'd leave me, and that scares the hell out of me because... I can't lose her. I'd do anything for her.”

“I know. That admittedly worries me, too.”

JD sighed. “Would it make you feel better if I gave you the gun?”

Mark stared at him. “Um... No. I mean, yes, but no. I don't want it. I don't want it anywhere near me. But... do I want you to give it up? Yes. I know it... it may seem like the only way to deal with your father, but it isn't.”

JD nodded. “Well, we could make a deal. You keep broadcasting, and we'll go together and throw it into a lake or something.”

Mark hesitated. “I... I'm not sure I can do that.”

JD knew that Mark couldn't quit now, even if he thought he should, if that stupid meeting had convinced him it was the right thing to do. He just wasn't sure how to prove that to him.

“What the hell?”

JD looked over to see Nora coming up to them. He would have rather it be Veronica, but then again, Veronica didn't know about this, did she?

“Are those your letters?” Nora asked, pointing to the fire. Mark nodded, and she flinched. “Did you already burn all of mine?”

He swallowed, but he shook his head.

“I wanted to stop, grab some of the letters and posters that are up around the school, thought you might like them, but I'm betting they'd just end up on that pile there,” Nora said, shaking her head when Mark gave her another nod. “So I guess you're not going on tonight.”

“I tried to tell him he should,” JD said. “What the fuck did they say at that meeting, anyway?”

“A lot of stuff, though I'm betting it was his dad talking about 'not getting anyone else hurt' that is really behind this,” Nora said, grimacing. “That's not what he meant, you know. He was just trying to talk that psycho out of hunting you down. Knowing them, they'd attack JD for it instead, and it would be a mess, just like he said, but they can't actually do that to you. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Broadcasting without a license is technically a crime,” JD said, and Mark nodded to his words. Nora gave him a look, and JD shrugged. No point in denying that. They could still arrest Mark for that if they figured out who he was.

Mark pushed past JD and went back into the house. He probably would have shut the door on her if he could have.

“No, you don't get to quit,” she said, and JD found himself smiling. Mark needed someone like her. “You do this, and it's like it was a game to you. You can't just shout 'fire' in a theater and walk out. You have a responsibility to the people who believe in you. It's not just me. It's not just Veronica. You know we all listen to you, and we're not the only ones. Paige did, and there's a whole crowd of cars gathered in the school lot waiting for you to go on. People need you.”

Mark frowned, and it looked like he wanted to say something, to deny all of that, but he didn't. He turned back to his desk, not looking at her. The inability to speak was back, JD thought.

“What is this?” Nora demanded. “Why do you keep doing this around me? You can talk to him, can't you? Come on, say something. Say anything. Open your mouth and say, 'Get the hell out of here, bitch.'”

“I can't,” Mark choked out, and it was hard to watch.

“You can't what?”

“I can't talk.”

“Sure you can talk,” she said. “I heard you when I walked up. I've heard you plenty of times already. All Hard Harry does is talk. You are more than capable of this.”

“No,” Mark insisted. “I can't talk _to you.”_

Nora frowned. JD nodded. “He has... issues. Should have seen him around Veronica the first few times she was here. It's not just you, though it's probably worse with you.”

Mark gave him the finger. JD went over and put his hands on Mark's shoulders. “Why don't you try it through the mic? Or something. It'll get easier. It did with me. And Veronica.”

“She doesn't know, though, does she?”

“About Mark being Hard Harry? No.”

“See? That just makes what she did for you tonight even more important.”

Mark sighed, looking like he wanted to say something else, but he ended up choking on it again. JD started clearing the desk for him, not sure what to turn on, but Mark did that once he'd lifted the shelf out of the way.

“I got a letter from this guy who has a problem. He can't talk. I mean, he can talk,” Mark said, looking like he was hating himself for every word he said, “but never when he wants to—not to girls, not to people. He just opened up his mouth, and nothing came out. Then this jerk finds somebody that he likes—which is probably the worst thing that can happen to a person that can't talk. I don't know what to tell this guy because lately, every time I give advice, the fit hits the shan.”

JD managed a small smile. That was kind of funny, though Mark shouldn't have to resort to this to talk to Nora. She seemed to agree, because she'd moved away from him as he spoke, looking like she just might bolt.

Great. For all she'd been bold when he didn't declare himself, now that Mark had admitted he liked her, she was going to run?

JD swore he was going to end up hitting someone.

“So, I don't know. Maybe the best thing to do is just... turn around, face the music, and try to talk.”

He was about to, but before he did, someone called out to him. “Mark, are you in there? Why is this door locked?”

“Fuck,” Mark whispered, but JD shook his head, stopping him from flipping the switch, covering the mic with his other hand.

“Put something on, or this will get a lot worse. What if they try and make you listen to it with them and 'discuss' it?”

Mark continued to swear under his breath, setting a record to play. “Damn it. Coming.”

“We need to have a discussion about you locking this door,” his dad called from the hall. “I swear, I will get the key, and if I find—”

“Just give me a second here,” Mark said. “Two seconds.”

JD shook his head. The hell with that. He'd buy Mark the two seconds and a lot more. He opened the door, getting frowns from both of them as they looked him over. He hadn't ditched his coat or hidden his hair with a hat. Oops.

“Your mother and I have been out there for five minutes,” Hunter said. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

JD shrugged. Last thing he'd done was... Well... “I was just reading.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” his mother said. “We heard you. We heard you talking, all right? And don't say you were reading aloud. You can't expect us to believe that.”

“Actually,” JD said. “I don't, but then... I'm not Mark.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Mark talk with his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I'd be lying if I said this came out the way I thought it would. I'd also be lying if I said I knew how to improve it.

* * *

“What? Of course you are. You think we can't recognize our own son?”

“I know you can't,” JD told them, half-amused and half-pissed off by that very fact. He knew damned well they hadn't recognized their own son because they'd let themselves be fooled by him even when he was acting a bit “off” from the Mark they knew.

“That's not funny, and neither is this outfit of yours,” Mr. Hunter said. “I realize you might not have been happy about what I said at the meeting—”

“No, Dad, he's right,” Mark said, coming around the desk to join them. “You don't always recognize me, and not just because we look this much alike.”

“Oh, my god,” Mrs. Hunter said, sounding like she just might start hyperventilating. “How is this even—no. This can't be possible. How did—I don't know how you managed this, but if this is some kind of prank, you need to stop it. Now.”

“Not a prank, Mom,” Mark said, and JD let him handle this part, even as he could see the pain all over the other kid's face as he spoke. “I know about the adoption.”

“I...” She looked horrified, ashamed and fearful all at once.

“Let's talk upstairs,” Mr. Hunter said. “Not here. Not in a damned doorway.”

JD could agree with that, though he figured Mark was still too stressed to deal with much of anything. So much for one crisis at a time. He'd known the Chandler thing was on hold until they got the pictures developed, and he'd gotten Mark to deal with part of the Nora issue while getting on air, though that was now interrupted, and all things considered, maybe he should have had Nora announce herself rather than revealing his status as Mark's twin.

Still, done was done, and he couldn't exactly back out of it, even if maybe Mark's parents would prefer that they pretended this was a joke and ended it.

He followed them up the stairs and into the kitchen. Hunter gestured for them to sit. He stayed standing, studying them for so long JD found himself fidgeting under it, even if he didn't find the man that intimidating.

“This... really does seem impossible.”

“Is it, though?” JD asked, folding his arms over his chest. “I mean, you had to know when you adopted Mark that there were two of us.”

That hit both of them like they'd been slapped. Mrs. Hunter was the first to recover, reaching for her son's hand. Mark didn't give it to her.

“I swear to you we didn't know,” she said in a small voice. “We... We always knew kids weren't an option for us, not in the natural way... I... My fault. I... I had a hysterectomy when I was not much older than you are now. It...”

“It wasn't your fault,” Hunter said, touching her shoulders. “It was cancer. Not drugs or any of our 'hippie' stuff you like to get so irritated about, Mark.”

Ouch. JD could almost feel sorry for them. Almost. “Still, you got your perfect baby, and that was all you needed, right?”

Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “It wasn't like that at all. I...”

“We actually wanted more children,” Hunter said. “Only by the time we'd settled and were ready for another, Mark was old enough to where he would have noticed that the baby didn't come from his mother, and we weren't ready to tell him we'd adopted him. Most days, that doesn't even feel like what we did.”

“You were my son from the moment I first saw you, and when they put you in my arms, I knew I'd never think of you any other way,” Mrs. Hunter told Mark, tears welling up in her eyes. “We didn't know how to tell you, and it doesn't seem... necessary after a while, so we—”

“Not _necessary?”_ Mark demanded. “My whole life is a lie, but it wasn't _necessary_ to tell me any of this? You wouldn't have, would you? If I hadn't met JD and found out on my own, you would _never_ have told me. That is... I'm not going to say it's unbelievable, because it isn't. It's just so damned fucked up, and why should either of us believe you when you say you would have taken JD, too, if you'd known?”

“Mark, please,” his mother said, but he stood up, shaking his head. 

“I don't want to hear anymore. I don't—I can't do this. You—”

“They're about the only ones we can ask for anything close to the truth,” JD said, and Mark looked back at him like he'd betrayed him, too. “I'm not saying we believe them, but I can guarantee that asking Bud would be a hell of a lot worse.”

Mark sighed. “I know, but I don't—I can't. I had a life I thought I understood, and it's... gone. Nothing's what I thought it was.”

JD nodded. “I know. And I'm not even talking about the adoption. You know for me, that's a relief.”

Mark sat back down, looking up at his parents with renewed anger. “How did you not know? How could you _possibly_ not know?”

“We worked with an adoption agency,” Mr. Hunter answered. “We never met your birth mother or any of her family. They didn't tell us much of anything about her, just that she was a young woman—a teenager—who was too young for the responsibility of having a child, and she wanted to give him up to a good home.”

“We had thought of going back to them when we were ready for another child,” Mrs. Hunter said, “but by the time we did, they were no longer in business.”

“How much did you pay them?” JD asked. They exchanged a look. “Don't even bother lying about that. We're way past that.”

“Don't do anything crazy,” Mark said, and JD gave him a look. “I just... there are other ways. Better ones. I'm never going to stop believing that.”

“You're the best of the two of us,” JD agreed. He turned his eyes on the Hunters again. “And yes, I _am_ the crazy one. The trench coat kid whose violence you hate so much. And yes, that has already caused problems. I think you'd better just answer the question.”

“Twenty thousand, discounted from twenty-five.”

“Holy fuck,” JD whispered, looking over at Mark, who was staring at his parents in disbelief. That was plenty of money now, but back when they were babies? It did seem like they'd wanted Mark plenty, since that was—it was more than a car, enough to start buying a house. Shit. That was crazy.

“And... I suppose they'd have wanted the same for... um... a second child,” Mark choked out, looking a bit like someone had hit him again.

“That was what we were told at the time. We delayed buying a house, saving what we could, but it still took all of our savings for Mark, and we weren't able to get enough funds for a second child right away, so we waited until we did, and then... well, we had our doubts and the agency was out of business... Mark seemed happy enough on his own, so we left things as they were.”

“Twenty-five thousand,” JD repeated, feeling a bit queasy.

“You think your parents paid that?”

He had a hard time thinking Bud had, but maybe his mother... “I don't know.”

* * *

“It's still music,” Duke said over the phone line. “Just music. The whole side of an album has played, and it switched to the other, but it's just music.”

“I know,” Veronica said, eying the radio again. This wasn't like Harry, though she would have sworn that letter he read when he first came on was from Mark. That sounded so like him and his trouble speaking. He was so cute when he did it with Nora, though bold as she was, she probably thought it meant he didn't like her.

“Heather thinks this means he's stopped for good,” Duke muttered. “No, Heather, I'm not giving you the phone. I told her what you said. I don't agree. Do you?”

Duke didn't sound as confident as her words implied. Veronica had to admit, she found the music only broadcast troubling. Still, she didn't think Harry was done. Not after all of this, even if Mark had said he wouldn't go on—he'd been wrong about that, hadn't he?

“I think he may be taking the other approach,” Veronica said, grimacing. “He's trying to make his show a bit less... offensive so he can stay on air without them lynching him.”

“How would he even know they wanted to? Is he just assuming that, or does he have a source?”

A source? Who would it be? Mark had been there, sure, but he didn't talk to anyone really besides JD, and none of the rest of them knew—she was sure Martha and Betty were worried, too, even if she hadn't spoken to them.

There was always Nora, Veronica supposed.

Nora, who had insisted on talking to someone else tonight. Who had wanted to go find Mark when Hard Harry had said he was done.

And JD had wanted to use Mark's dad the commissioner to get information about Heather.

Which would explain how Harry had access to memos like the one about Cheryl and Mr. Deaver's home phone number, along with all the other teachers and staff.

Mark was Hard Harry? The same Mark who could barely choke out words to tell her she'd kissed the wrong person? The Mark who blushed and couldn't say two words to Nora? The one who shocked everyone when he did talk? That Mark?

Then again... it made a lot of things make a lot of sense, didn't it?

“Veronica? Are you still there?”

“Eh... yes,” Veronica said. “Sorry. I was just thinking about that for a second. Harry knows a lot about the school... Maybe he's not a student like we thought. Maybe he's a teacher.”

“Really? That would be so lame after all we've done for him. Sticking up for a teacher? Disgusting.”

“You used to puke up every meal,” Veronica reminded her. That was far more disgusting, and Veronica would know.

“You're not helping.”

“I was just—”

“Veronica,” her mother said, standing in the doorway. “Who said you got your phone back?”

Shit. Veronica covered the mouthpiece, trying to think. “No one. I just... Heather was pretty upset earlier, so I thought... maybe there could be an exception? I would have just gone over, but since I'm grounded—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother said, and Veronica knew she was damned lucky her parents hadn't gone to that meeting. “Maybe you should go. Do you need us to give you a ride?”

Veronica would prefer it, since it was a damned long walk to Mark's from here, but both Heathers lived in the other direction, so she shook her head. “Heather said they'd pick me up if I could come, but since I didn't think I could—”

“Tell them it's fine.”

“Okay. I'll probably wait outside, then,” Veronica said. She waited for her mother to leave and uncovered the phone. “You still there, Heather?”

“Where would I go?”

“I don't know. Somewhere. Look, my mother said—”

“You could go to my house or Heather's if we needed you, but what you really want to do is find your boyfriend because none of us has seen his scary ass or talked to him since we left for that meeting,” Duke finished. “It's fine. We're both okay with covering for you. Just... call us back after you've seen him and screwed him and things are fine again.”

Veronica winced, mumbling a goodbye and hanging up, not bothering to explain that this was not at all about sex and she wasn't actually looking to see JD but his twin this time.

She had a few questions she wanted answered, and they sure as hell weren't going to wait until morning.

* * *

“I think we're all going to need some time to deal with this.”

Mark looked at his mother, his stomach still churning with the mix of emotions going through him at the moment. He'd heard people wanting to lynch him earlier, and then he'd had Nora and JD telling him not to quit, and then JD just had to go telling his parents about his existence, adding in anger and frustration to the fear and confusion.

He wasn't lying when he said he couldn't do this. Part of him was struggling to remember how to breathe while the rest of him tried to keep his stomach calm. He didn't know what to think or feel.

JD reached over and touched his shoulder. “Breathe, Mark.”

Of the two of them, JD was arguably stronger. He seemed to keep a cool head in a crisis. He didn't break down like this, though as he'd said before, being adopted was almost a relief to him.

Almost.

“They split us up for more money, didn't they?” Mark asked, looking at JD for confirmation of what he'd been thinking. “They didn't even tell them... so that they could sell us separately. They might have... there could have been more.”

“Unlikely, but possible,” JD agreed. “Them using us to get more money... That's very possible, even though it's still hard to imagine Bud doing that for me. Maybe my mom pushed for it, but she's not around to ask, and I'm sure as hell not asking him.”

Mark nodded. He wouldn't have asked JD's father. Though he had yet to meet the man, he was still frightened by him. Still, to know that their positions could have been reversed... “Why didn't they sell us to someone who had enough money for both of us?”

“Mark,” his father said, sounding hurt. “We didn't _buy_ you. You weren't... property.”

“You paid twenty thousand dollars to them. You bought me,” he said, forcing himself up from the table. “And I'm the lucky one, but don't think it makes this much easier. You lied, and I... I think I'm going to throw up.”

JD put a hand on his arm. “Breathe deep, then let it out. You're not sick, you're panicking, and while it feels like you're going to be sick, once you calm your mind down a little, that feeling in your stomach stops.”

Mark just looked at him. “Does that actually work for you?”

“Not always, but it can help,” JD said. “And distracting you seems to help a lot more. You'll be okay. You just need a bit of time.”

“That sounds wrong coming from you.”

“Why, because there was no profanity in it?” JD asked, and Mark found himself laughing. Somehow, JD did seem to know the right words to say, the right way to comfort him. He didn't know what he'd do in the face of this lynch mob without his brother.

Though Nora... she'd pushed and got him talking again and...

Shit. The broadcast.

“JD's staying here,” Mark said, facing his parents, glad his voice didn't shake. He didn't know why it was so important to say that. He didn't know that they would have told JD to go, and if they did, then they'd both leave, even if they had nowhere to go.

“Of course, sweetheart,” his mom said. “We wouldn't expect you to be separated from your brother right now.”

The look his dad gave JD said they would, though. Judging from his father's face, he wasn't fully convinced JD was his brother—that or he didn't like how close they were, how JD had calmed him and comforted him. Maybe he was jealous.

Mark wasn't sure he cared. He needed to get out of here. Now.

“Should we call your parents?” Mark's mom asked, the request so typical and yet so very out of place. It made Mark want to crack up laughing, and he wasn't sure why he didn't, except it was a bit hard to breathe again. JD's dad. If they called Bud, if he found out that JD was here or that Mark existed—no. That couldn't happen.

“No,” JD answered, sounding a bit choked up himself. “My mom's... she's dead, and my dad... he doesn't care where I am.”

That was the wrong thing to say. True, but not good as Mark's mom was too much of a mom to let that go. She'd want to know a lot more.

“He's screwing with you. His dad already knows where he is,” Mark lied. “Come on, JD. Let's go set up the couch for you downstairs.”

“Mark,” his father began, but he shook his head.

“Not tonight.” He didn't look back as he pushed JD toward the stairs. They both needed to get away from here, and he still felt a bit like he might just puke after all. He couldn't help worrying about his parents trying to find JD's dad, not that there weren't hundreds of other reasons to worry.

His record had to have run out by now, and people would be wondering what happened to Hard Harry. He wasn't sure how he'd ever manage to get on the air now. He couldn't think, but distance from his parents might help.

“You shouldn't have told them,” Mark said to JD's back as they went down the stairs. “What happened to one crisis at a time?”

JD stopped, looking back up at him. “Would you rather I made Nora your alibi?”

Truthfully, Mark didn't know. It might have been better that way. “Maybe.”

JD shrugged, opening the door and going inside. “I thought about it, after I'd tried to stall. I could have grabbed a hat, let you broadcast, and then they'd never have to know it was you. Or I could have forced you to go up to them and done the broadcast myself. I'm not sure if I just fucked up or I did it because I was tired of not knowing.”

“Is it really any better?” Mark asked. “That dumb luck gave me them and you got Bud Dean? That it was all about money?”

“No.”

Mark felt the same. Knowing just left him feeling raw and a bit empty.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark still has a broadcast to deal with after the conversation with his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered, very strongly, jumping to the next day as I had ideas for a Heather McNamara moment at school and wanted to get to when the photos were developed, but the emotional fallout from the conversation wasn't done and Mark had been in the middle of things.
> 
> And I changed a few things about his broadcast because he wasn't really in the place for a prank or a certain song as a declaration of feelings.
> 
> Also I was passed along a link to a video (I did not make it or even find it) that has Heathers mixed with Pump Up the Volume and added it to my note at the beginning of the story, but it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABe5SrlGWog), since I just found out about it today.

* * *

Nora heard the door open and jumped back from the desk. She watched the boys reenter the room, neither of them looking very happy as they did, though she would have thought there'd be more shouting and upset—or maybe that was just what would have happened if she'd had that conversation with her parents.

She swallowed, looking over at Mark. “I flipped the record. I didn't know what else to do.”

“Thanks,” JD said, leading Mark over to the chair. Mark sat, and she thought for a second he was just going to shut it all down.

“I really don't know what to say right now.”

“There's plenty of shit from that meeting to go over,” JD said. “And people are going to expect some kind of response about it.”

Mark put his hands in his head. “This is so out of control. I'm not a leader. People can't be looking to me for what to do or what to say. I don't even know what to say.”

“I don't know. It seems to come easily enough when you have that mic in front of you,” JD told him. “And who knows? Maybe it helps with the rest of it. I mean, they were there, right? Were they dicks?”

“Creswood was the dick,” Nora said. “She would have let that meeting go completely out of control to feed her ego. She tried to silence Paige, pacify the rest of us with Deaver and Fleming's bullshit, and that father that wanted to get the gang kids to track down Harry would probably be out there doing it now if she'd stayed in control of things.”

“Then that's it, then,” JD said, reaching for the mic as the needle on the record player stopped. Nora expected him to hand it to Mark, though he had yet to look up from his hands. “Well, well, the big news—the emergency PTA meeting to discuss yours truly. Yes, all of the professionals have come out to talk about little old me, and now they've all run home to tune in and listen to what they've all been talking about. They say I am deluded... demented... deranged. Well, guess what I say?”

“So be it,” Nora whispered, wondering again if the two of them had ever switched places for the broadcast before.

“So be it,” JD repeated. “Rise up in the cafeteria and stab them with your plastic forks. I say flogging and flagellation for Miss Creswood. She gets a hundred lashes for every single kid that she has hounded out of that fucking place. I say down with all guidance counselors. Make them work for a living.”

Mark reached for the mic, pulling it away from him. “As tempting as it might be to call up Deaver again and taunt him, cooler heads did prevail for once. To that end, I suppose, we might all owe a bit of gratitude for Mr. Brian Hunter, who decided to take charge and remind everyone that the reason they were there was because they didn't want anyone else hurt. Now I'm sure some people are plenty fine with the one being hurt being me, and I won't deny that a part of me feels like I failed Malcolm, and if Heather truly was that girl mentioned in that letter last night and that was why she's dead... then I suppose I have some of the blame.”

JD looked like he was about to take the mic back, but Mark rose, starting to pace. “I said it before, and I'll say it now—I didn't start this to hurt anyone. I didn't even start it thinking I'd have anyone listening to me. Maybe I made the wrong choice going on that first night, in following up the next night after and the one after that... I started because I had to give a voice to my pain, to this pain I couldn't talk to anyone about, and there's this part of me that wonders if more kids did this then maybe we might have hundreds of radio stations, yes, the airways would be clogged, but there wouldn't be as many suicides or even murders... We'd have a solution that wasn't violent, wasn't permanent. We'd have someone else who understood what happened, who felt like we did—who understood the pain of being rejected or bullied or ashamed of who we are.”

Nora smiled. That was true, and maybe he was right. Maybe they should have stations or some other way of dealing with this stuff. She had her art, but it wasn't always enough.

Mark looked back at JD, swallowing hard as he went on. “Some of us deal with horrible things on a daily basis just to survive, and we're tired. We're so damned tired of staying in the fight and going on. It feels like one more thing will just... break us. And if it's like that for someone like me, who has a relatively good life... I'm afraid of what it's like for someone else, for someone who has things a hell of a lot worse than I do. I see the pain everywhere, but most of it isn't mine. When it is, I hardly know what to do about it.”

Nora winced. He was hurt, had been attacked on Monday, but it wasn't just that. It was this adoption thing, wasn't it?

“And so I'm back on the air again, talking about my problems. Not all of them, no, because if I spilled out every detail of what's really bothering me, a few people would know exactly what door to knock on, and then where would I be? Locked up, thrown away because I had to speak my mind? I could have found a thousand other ways to deal with my thoughts, and I'm sure others would say some of them were healthier, but a lot of them would be worse, too,” Mark said, shaking his head. “That's the other flaw in this system of ours, though. People don't seem to understand that what works for one person isn't going to be a magical cure for everyone in the world. Others can do art. They can write stories. They can make dance routines or build sculptures. They can do hundreds of things like that, and their pain is expressed and they're free. Me? I need to talk on a radio. I don't know why that works so well for me and not other things—I know at least one person thought I'd be better off doing one of those artistic things, that I had talent for it—but that talent wasn't enough. Maybe it's not really enough for anyone. I don't know.”

Nora liked that he was willing to admit that, that he didn't claim to have all the answers. She'd thought she wouldn't want to listen to him do his broadcast, that it wouldn't be the same or as good if she wasn't hearing him on the air, disguised.

“Tonight I'm plenty confused,” Mark went on. “I thought about shutting it all down. I thought about giving up, hiding away. I can't say there's not a part of me that isn't tempted. I know, I know. Harry's supposed to be fearless, but the thing is... we're all afraid of something. I'm not immune to that. I wish I was. Things are pretty complicated now, and a part of me says that taking myself off the air might be best, not just for me but for everyone.”

“No,” Nora said immediately, not believing that for a second. They needed his show, even more so now that he'd shifted away from a lot of obscene content and the masturbation to the subjects they needed help with most.

And if they did find out Heather Chandler was murdered, how were they going to tell anyone about it? They could try an anonymous tip, but it might take the popularity of his show to convince people.

“Judging from that meeting tonight, plenty of the parents think so, but this isn't about the parents. Truth be told, I'm more than a little pissed off at mine right now. It's one thing to have them be clueless about everything that matters to me, to be blind to just how much I hate it here, but to have them say something like that, to have them fail to understand how damaging that was... they've gone from misunderstanding me a little to making me feel like I'm not even a person at all, not to them.”

Nora looked at JD, and he grimaced. He grabbed a cigarette off Mark's desk and walked outside, leaving her no real choice but to follow him.

“They're not really thinking—I don't even know what I'm thinking they thought—what, that the two of you are interchangeable or something, are they?”

“Fuck, no,” JD said. “I think they'd be glad to see the last of me.”

“Then what?”

“Why the hell would I tell you?”

Nora drew in a breath and let it out, unable to answer that. She wanted to say she deserved to know, but she couldn't, since she wasn't family. She wasn't even that close of a friend, even if she knew Mark's secret. She was the Eat Me, Beat Me lady, but what did that actually mean?

And... was it really Mark she liked or was it just his radio persona?

She didn't have a good answer to any of that.

* * *

Veronica wasn't sure what to think of seeing JD and Nora sitting outside Mark's house. She might have had a better idea if she'd had her radio, but since she'd told her parents she was waiting for Heather's mom, so it would have been weird to take it with her, and she hadn't really thought of shoving it in her bag until she was halfway to Mark's house.

It didn't matter. She wasn't sure she would have been able to focus on the walk back if she'd had it. People weren't out in the streets rebelling this time. Everything seemed pretty subdued, like maybe those people who'd wanted to lynch Mark had scared the others into staying inside and maybe not even listening.

“Veronica? Thought you were stuck with your parents tonight,” JD said as he crossed toward her. “Something wrong? Did something happen?”

“Mark is Hard Harry, isn't he?”

JD tensed, frowning. “Why would you say that?”

“I figured it out,” Veronica said. “Did Mark tell you that's what he was? Nora already knows, doesn't she? Did you tell her and not me? Or is this just something where—”

“I walked in on him in the middle of a show. I didn't tell anyone, and I don't actually think Mark's told anyone, either,” JD said eying Nora with a bit of disgust. “She apparently figured it out on her own. Scared the hell out of Mark, too.”

Veronica twisted her lip. “She was part of how I figured it out, but I still can't believe you didn't tell me. First you didn't say you were twins, now you don't tell me about this—”

“It wasn't my secret to tell,” JD said. “Mark didn't tell you, so I didn't think I should. What, you want me to go telling him all of yours? That's not how it works, even if he is my brother.”

Veronica nodded. She wasn't even sure if she was really that mad about it. They all had secrets, and what right did she really have to Mark's? She didn't even really have them to JD's, dating or not. She was just frustrated. That meeting had been awful, and while she was still glad they'd gone and at least tried, she knew they hadn't done anything.

And Mark had sat there, listening to all of it.

“Is he planning on quitting? After what they said at the meeting—”

“We've been trying to talk him out of it,” Nora said, “but so far it hasn't gone that well. Not that it helped that JD chose mid-broadcast to announce his presence to Mark's parents.”

“They were going to walk in on him doing the damned show, and if they were listening, they'd have known something was up when he suddenly went off air like he was planning. I should have told them he was talking to Nora, but what the hell, let's just leave the damned adoption hanging over our heads because that was really helping his mental state,” JD snapped, blowing smoke out in Nora's face. “You don't know everything, even if you _do_ know about Mark's biggest secret.”

“What's wrong?” Veronica asked, knowing that while JD probably did have a temper, Mark wasn't the only one having issues with the adoption, and that was part of why he was lashing out at Nora. “What happened?”

“My parents admitted to paying an adoption agency a ridiculous amount of money for me,” Mark said from the doorway. “And I suppose you all may as well come in now. I'm done. Wrapped up and signed off. Don't even remember the rest of what I said, but it's not that important, is it?”

“It is,” Nora told him. “You don't understand what you mean to people.”

“And you,” JD said, “don't have any comprehension of what it's like to think you don't matter to anyone.”

“I... Was that about Mark or about you?”

“Maybe both of them,” Veronica said, biting her lip. She knew it was true of JD, between his abusive father and his mother having left him by committing suicide. She didn't know as much about Mark, but what she had heard of Hard Harry, he had definitely felt alone before, and it was possible JD being here didn't change that.

“Um, maybe I should just go,” Nora said, backing up instead of following Mark inside.

“I swear I'm going to smack you," JD told her. "I almost did when you backed out on him trying to tell you how he felt, and if you do it now like a little coward, I really will.”

Nora stared at him, her mouth falling open. Veronica was tempted to push her inside herself. She nudged her forward, since Mark was going to need support now, and only a few people knew just how much. Veronica was here for JD, but who did Mark really have?

More importantly, who did he believe he had?

* * *

“You mind if I use your phone?” Veronica asked, and Mark shook his head. She picked it up and started dialing. “I promised Heather I'd call her back and let her know everything was fine.”

Mark frowned. “Why wouldn't it be? You were safe at home, weren't you?”

“Well, for one, the music only broadcast had a few people worried, and for another, we were on the phone when I figured out who you were and decided I wanted to confirm that. She said she'd cover for me finding JD so long as I called her to say that I was fine. I don't know—Maybe Heather Chandler's death rattled her a bit,” Veronica said with a shrug. She turned back to the handset. “Heather. It's me. Yeah, I'm fine. JD's at Mark's. We're all good. I just called because I promised I would.”

Mark shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “I shouldn't even have gone on tonight. The music had people worried? This is a disaster.”

“You only playing music isn't like you. You talk a lot more than you play,” Nora told him, and he swallowed. He'd tried talking to her earlier, but now he wasn't sure he could. “And you usually give a reason or an introduction to each song. You choose them with a purpose, or so I always thought.”

He frowned again. JD touched his shoulder from behind the couch. “Is this one a fold out or just regular? Just figured I'd ask about sleeping arrangements.”

Mark had to figure Veronica was staying tonight, though he didn't want to ask. He didn't care what his parents thought, though things could get awkward if his parents came down. “You can have the bedroom. I usually sleep on this couch anyway.”

“You sure?” JD asked. “'Cause that couch is shit, and I ought to know, since I had it last night.”

“It's fine,” Mark said, and JD nodded, taking Veronica's hand as she hung up the phone.

He led her out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Mark alone with Nora.

“They're kind of obvious, aren't they?” Nora asked, giving the door a look, and Mark shrugged. He was trying not to think about what JD and Veronica were doing, since he'd said his brother could have the bed tonight and had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. “Are you actually going to talk to me now, or should I just go?”

“I'm not sure what to say,” he admitted. He really didn't. He owed her, he supposed, since she'd flipped the record for him, but he still felt awkward around her.

“Should you have your mic in hand?”

“No.” He looked down at his hands. “It's not just... you. I... this thing with JD and me being a twin...”

“And your parents paying for you,” she said, wincing. “You know, it's kind of flattering, in a way. They wanted a kid so much they paid for it.”

“They paid a sleazy adoption firm, one that didn't even tell them about JD so they could get more money for him because they were giving all they had for me.”

“Oh.”

Mark knew it wasn't his place to say anything about JD's dad, so he held that back, not adding the part that was even harder to deal with—how he could have ended up in JD's place, abused, alone, thinking his mother had abandoned him and the only way to get away from his father was to kill him.

Still, it weighed on him. It worried him. What would he have done if he was JD? Would things have been worse? Would he even be here now? Mark would admit he wasn't half as strong as his brother was—or seemed to be.

“You're lucky, you know. Do you know the odds against you two ever finding each other and meeting?”

“No, but they'd be damned high seeing as my parents weren't planning on telling me I was adopted. Ever.” Mark leaned his head back, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. He should have kept that to himself, too, and he wished he'd choked on that one.

“That's not right. I mean, no matter how much they love you or want you, you have a right to know, and keeping it from you—that'll make you feel like it's some giant lie, which you do, I heard you say it the other night, even if you didn't say why you felt like your entire life was a lie.”

Mark looked at her. He said a lot of stuff that was from his own life when he was on the radio, but there was a lot of what he did or pretended to do that wasn't him, either. “It's pretty late. Aren't your parents going to worry about you?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me now?”

He might have been. He just didn't know how to feel about anything right now, and Nora confused the hell out of him. He liked her, but he couldn't talk to her, and what if none of it was real? She liked Hard Harry, and he'd been attracted to Eat Me, Beat Me, but did she actually like him and not just Harry?

“I'm not really good company,” he said. “And... I don't want you getting in any trouble. Last thing I need is more people ending up in trouble because of me.”

“I won't be, but thanks for the thought,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He tensed up, and she gave him a smile. “It's sweet of you.”

She got up and went to the door, and Mark tried not to groan as he watched her leave.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning is all sorts of complicated and awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to do the part with Heather. The rest of this... that was hard to figure out and get on paper, as it were
> 
> And I have this unpleasant sense that I must have done something wrong with this story. Maybe I did let it get too big or changed too much. One too many subplots? It was never meant to get this big...
> 
> *sigh* Panic is so irrational sometimes, but that doesn't make it any easier to stop or to shut up the doubts.

* * *

The bed was warm, and despite the light trying to come into his eyes, JD didn't want to wake. He could smell the sweet scent of Veronica's shampoo, and she was nestled against him in a way that was pretty much perfect. He knew his father wasn't waiting anywhere, the mattress was comfortable, and he could stay here forever.

And he might have, had someone not knocked on the door frame.

He bit back a few curses that Veronica didn't need in her ear, looking over to see his brother standing there. That was still a bit weird, though possibly not as much as the fact that those were definitely not the clothes Mark wore yesterday. Had he been able to come in, get clothes, and leave all without waking them?

Damn. JD never slept like that anymore.

“Figured I should wake you before my mom did,” Mark said, leaning in the doorway. “And seriously, if you did what I think you probably did last night, you are so responsible for laundry because I don't want to know.”

JD snorted, pulling Veronica closer to him as she giggled. Mark wasn't wrong about their nocturnal habits, though he'd tried to make sure they were quiet, not wanting Mark's parents to come down or Mark to hear more than he needed.

“I take it your night with Nora didn't go that well.”

Mark shook his head. “Whatever Nora and I have isn't... that, okay? It's not about sex. Or... I mean, I don't know what the hell it is.”

“Damn it,” JD muttered, knowing it was way too early in the morning for this, but he still understood it half asleep, even if Mark didn't. “You think she's not interested in you, just Hard Harry, and if she's not interested in the real you, you have nothing.”

“You don't really think that's all she sees in you, do you?” Veronica asked, sitting up and brushing back some of her hair. Mark flushed red and looked away, and JD reached over to tug the blankets up a bit higher over her chest, making her turn red that time. “I'd have to think that she'd want more than that. I mean, Harry can be funny, but he's also a bit of jerk, you know?”

“You like jerks,” JD told her, smiling at her as he leaned in to steal a kiss.

“No, I like you, and while you're a jerk some of the time, that's not your only quality. You are a lot more than when you're being an ass, more than your bad boy rebel side. If that part was all that attracted me to you, I'd have to be worried. I like the other sides of you, too.”

“There are other sides to me?” JD asked, frowning. He wasn't so sure about that.

“Yes, there are, and no, I don't think now's the time to talk about them,” Mark said. “My mom will be down any minute now to say she's made breakfast. She always does after a fight, tries to make up for it. And I'd bet she expects both of us to eat with them, too.”

“I don't mind eating, though I think you're overestimating the welcome they're handing out to me,” JD told him. “I'll be along in a couple minutes. I could use a shower.”

“Me, too,” Veronica said, and Mark went red again as he turned away. She bit her lip. “I suppose we shouldn't tease him like that.”

“Well, we kind of owe him, since he gave us a nice place for the night, so we won't push too much,” JD said, grinning. “Still, it's probably better if we shower together, just in case, since we can be sure she won't want to walk in on me doing that, even if I look exactly like her son, and as much as I loved having you here, the less they're aware of that, the better.”

Veronica nodded. “I'll grab my stuff and join you.”

“One more thing?”

“Hmm?”

“I know he's my brother and looks like me and you've already kissed him—”

“By mistake.”

“—but I would really rather Mark _not_ know what my girlfriend looks like naked, okay?”

* * *

“Here you go,” Mark's mom said, and he grimaced at just how much she'd outdone herself. For an apology breakfast, this was a feast, and he didn't like it. Eggs, potatoes, sausage, and pancakes—she'd done a bit of overkill, since most of the time they had a bit of toast or a bowl of cereal. This kind of thing was reserved for Sundays or vacations, not middle of the school week.

“I can't eat all this.”

“There's two of you, isn't there?” his father asked, and Mark gave him a look. That didn't sound right. At all.

And that was, of course, the moment JD entered the room. “Damn. I don't think I've ever seen a breakfast this big before.”

Mark's mother frowned. “You haven't?”

JD grimaced as he sat down, realizing just how much he'd said there. “Well, my dad doesn't cook, period, and my mom... she never was much of one before she died. Not used to it except when we stopped at buffets on the road.”

“The road?”

“My dad moves around a lot,” JD said, shrugging. “Can you pass the syrup?”

Mark's dad set in front of him. “Exactly what does your father do?”

“Blows shi—stuff up,” JD answered, forcing a smile as he started cutting up his sausage and mixing it into his eggs. “He's in construction. Demolition and construction.”

“You know, it occurs to me we haven't been properly introduced,” Mark's dad said. “What is your name? Mark called you JD last night, but there's more to it than that.”

“I don't go by my full name,” JD said, and that was true, since Mark had heard him to mention it only once in the entire time he'd known him. “Since I was adopted, I don't think it really matters.”

“I'm not sure I like your attitude,” Mark's father said, frowning.

Before JD could make this worse, and flip him off or something, Mark put a hand on his arm.

“His name is Jason Dean,” Mark told them, knowing that they wouldn't rest until they had it. Even now, they looked at JD like they weren't sure if they could believe Mark.

“He's right, it is, but if you call me Jason, I won't answer to it. I hate that name. Hate Dean, for that matter,” JD said. “I prefer JD. And breakfast was nice, but since I'm clearly not welcome here, I'll be going. Sorry, Mark, but I won't put up with this even for you.”

“Don't leave,” Mark's mom said, giving her husband a pointed look. “We just wanted to know a bit more about you, that's all. It's not—We're curious. We want to know our son's brother. It was a shock to us, whether you believe that or not and we're still trying to come to terms with that. I wish we'd known. We'd have found some way to adopt both of you or... or taken ourselves out of the mix so you could have stayed together. You should never have been separated like that.”

Mark swallowed. That was a little hard to believe, but then his parents were mostly clueless, not terrible people, not like JD's dad.

JD shrugged. “It happened. It's done. And I've lost my appetite anyway. I'll see you at school, Mark.”

“We don't have any classes together.”

“Technically, you don't know that. I got kicked out at lunch, so I don't even know what my second half of the day would have been like,” JD said, his smile out of sync with his words. He ruffled Mark's hair and walked off.

“I was going to offer him a ride.”

“He has his own motorcycle,” Mark said, picking up both of their plates and taking them to the sink. He couldn't finish anything now.

“Mark, please, we are all trying—”

“I know you are,” he said. It just wasn't enough.

* * *

“I think we're missing someone,” Duke observed, looking over their group. She hadn't been thrilled to see Betty Finn and Martha Dunnstock join them, but Heather didn't mind. She'd been glad, actually. She thought it was good, since Betty and Martha were nicer than than a lot of the people Heather Chandler had made them hang out with or talk to. Nora was nice, too.

“Yeah, I think Mark's parents had to give him a lecture on little old me,” JD muttered, shaking his head as he did. He leaned back against the lockers. “Who has the receipt for the photos? When can we pick them up?”

“Um,” Duke dug into her purse. “After eleven, so lunchtime, I guess.”

“Are we all going for that?” Betty asked, twisting her lip. “I'm not sure we'd have enough time.”

“We all have a stake in knowing what really happened to Heather, especially now,” Heather said, since she had barely slept for thinking not only was Heather dead and murdered but they'd take Hard Harry away from them, too.

“I didn't drive the van here. We don't have enough cars for everyone, do we?” Martha asked, frowning and hugging her books closer to her chest.

“I have my bike, but that's only two. What about the rich girls?”

“Very cute,” Duke muttered. “We discussed this yesterday. Only Chandler had a car. My parents are too busy feeding the wonder brats to buy me one, and Heather's parents are afraid she'll get in an accident.”

“My parents have that station wagon,” Veronica said. “But I was with you, so I didn't drive it.”

“And they think you were at our house last night instead of getting laid at your boyfriend's,” Duke added with a bit of a smirk.

Veronica nodded. “That, too. Thank you, Heather.”

Ram and Kurt were walking up the hall, passing a football back and forth, and Heather grimaced. She didn't know if Ram had heard about what she said at the meeting last night, but she needed to break things off with him.

He spotted her, of course, and came right toward her, ignoring everyone else. He put his arm over her shoulder. “Heather, baby. You coming with me tonight?”

“No.”

Ram frowned. “That's a no like you have to rearrange stuff, right?”

She shook her head. “It's a no that means no. I'm not going anywhere with you again. No.”

He stared at her. “The fuck did you just say? You never say no to me.”

She didn't. That was true. She'd lie to her parents and sneak out of the house before saying no to him or Heather Chandler, but Chandler was dead, and she didn't want to be with a bully. It wasn't just Mark he'd done that to. How many times had he ignored her when she said she didn't want to have sex? And hadn't Harry said that was rape, too?

“She's saying it now,” Duke told him. “So go on now. Go away.”

Ram glared at her. “And just who do you think you are, Duke? Heather Chandler?”

“You're not,” Kurt Kelly said. “No one's going to listen to you. If Ram says Heather's going out tonight, then she's going.”

“I'm not,” Heather said, feeling a bit scared now. She swallowed, trying to decide if Ram would really hurt her and then remembering that he already had. “I'm not going out with you ever again, Ram. We're done.”

She saw smiles on the other faces, Betty, Martha, Nora, Duke, and Veronica all happy, but Kurt and Ram were not.

“Listen, Heather—”

“She said no,” JD said, “Now back off and leave her alone, or you can answer to me, assholes.”

Ram and Kurt stared at him. Kurt took a step back, but Ram was too angry for that. He wasn't going to listen. Heather knew that look. She'd seen it too many times.

“What the hell business is it of yours?”

“Does that even matter?” JD asked. “Last time we met, you almost pissed yourself in your hurry to run away, and you want to stick around for questions this time?”

“You're not stupid enough to have that thing at school—”

“I wouldn't call him stupid,” Mark said as he came up behind them. “But he _is_ that crazy, if that helps anything.”

“Fuck. Which one is which?” Ram asked, looking between them in a bit of a panic.

“It doesn't matter,” Kurt said, tugging on his coat. “Run.”

They bumped Mark on their way stumbling down the hall, and Heather couldn't help it, she laughed. Mark was too quiet and too sweet to be intimidating, but JD was scary, and if they didn't know which one was which—oh, it was too good. That was wonderful.

“Nicely done,” JD told him with a grin.

“Yeah, well, we haven't gone to that lake, now have we?” Mark said, looking like he might start hyperventilating now. 

Heather went over and hugged him. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Um... you could be hugging JD.”

“No, he's too scary.”

* * *

Watching Heather hug Mark made Nora's stomach twist up unpleasantly.

She knew what it was. Jealousy, not that she had any right to be jealous.

She'd been up most of the night thinking, trying to decide just what this thing was between her and Mark really was. She'd been a fan of his show for so long she had started to think she knew him, but did she? It wasn't like she'd believed Mark was Hard Harry at first. She'd thought he was cute—she still did—but she'd been sure he wasn't the pirate dj. He just seemed too shy. JD seemed more likely, but he wasn't Harry. He could almost fake it, but watching him last night she didn't see the same thing in him as she had when Mark was the one speaking.

And if she was just attracted to his voice and the personality he had when he broadcasted—which wasn't all fake as she'd seen bits and pieces of Harry in Mark's unguarded moments, when he was interacting with JD, even a bit with his parents—then maybe she was in the wrong place.

Not that she wasn't still friends with Betty and Martha, sort of, and maybe even Veronica, but she wasn't sure where she stood with Mark. Sure, she knew his secret, but was that all it was?

She didn't know.

She just knew the whole thing was very, very awkward. She needed to talk to him. Or someone. That left her with... what, Veronica? She was the only other girl who knew Mark's secret. Not that they'd have any time to talk—they might have homeroom together, but they also shared that with the Heathers, Betty, and Martha.

Screw it. Nora was not sitting through that. She had to _do_ something.

“Maybe some of us should go and deal with the vehicle situation now,” Nora said. “We're all going to want to see the pictures and know the truth about Heather—”

“Did your dad learn anything more, Mark?” Duke asked. “As the commissioner, they might have given him more details that we didn't have yesterday.”

“He didn't mention anything at the meeting,” Betty said, braving Duke's glare.

“I doubt he would have, and it got a little out of hand last night,” Veronica said. “At least in Creswood's mind. She was pissed.”

“We didn't ask Mark's dad about Heather,” JD said. “They found out about the twin thing and that made for an interesting night.”

Duke looked at them each in turn. “I bet.”

“What does that mean?” Veronica asked, and Duke just smirked at her. Veronica shook her head. “Screw you, Duke. I did not sleep with both of them.”

Mark went red, and he looked like he wanted to pull a Ram and run. Nora reached over to touch his arm, and he flinched.

“I don't share,” JD said, pulling Veronica close to him. She smiled and leaned against him. “Though we could probably check Hunter's files when we go for the photos, right, Mark?”

Mark nodded. “There's a chance he'd lock his office now because of the whole breaking into the safe thing for the adoption papers, but he might not have. I don't even know with them anymore.”

“So we'll do that all at the same time,” JD said. “Need to feed the hamster anyway.”

“It's so wrong that the hamster's yours,” Duke muttered, shaking her head.

“Look, I'm never going to be Miss Perfect Attendance here,” Nora began, thinking of how many unexcused absences she'd racked up, “but I kind of think we should just go now. Why bother trying to sit through hours of hell when we'll get nothing out of them?”

“I've never ditched,” Martha said, and Betty nodded in wide eyed agreement next to her. Duke gave a sigh, clucking her disgust at the two of them. McNamara just managed to look a bit awkward.

“No one is saying you have to,” Veronica said, “though some of us might.”

Nora figured JD wanted to, as did both of the Heathers, the one probably to avoid Ram, especially if JD was going to be gone. Veronica was going wherever JD went, and that only left Mark as a hold out besides the girls.

“I go, and he'll know,” Mark reminded JD. “You don't need that.”

“And you don't need what those jock assholes will do if I'm not here,” JD told him. “We all go.”

“I don't know about this,” Betty said. “I'm really not comfortable with ditching.”

“I think you'd better get comfortable,” Nora said, watching the man coming straight toward them up the hall. Creswood's number one stooge. “Because if we don't leave now, someone's going to make us do it.”

Martha frowned. “They wouldn't. We haven't done anything wrong.”

“Except defend Hard Harry,” Nora said, reaching for Mark's hand and hoping she took the sting out of those words. He didn't need to believe this was his fault, either.

“They can't do that,” Mark said. “Not for that.”

“Oh, she'll have a bullshit excuse, I'm sure,” Veronica said, shaking her head.

“My parents will kill me,” McNamara said. She turned to Mark. “Are you sure there's nothing you can do?”

“Me?” Mark asked, the word coming out at a near squeak that had him wincing like he wanted to smack his head into the nearest wall until it bled.

JD took his arm. “Your dad's a bit of an ass, but he'd step in if he knew this was retaliation, right?”

“Maybe not for you, but for everyone else, yes.”

“It's not going to happen, is it?” Betty asked, and Martha looked just as scared, the two of them so good they'd never been in this kind of trouble before, and worse, they didn't deserve it. Nora had it coming, so did the others, but them?

“Duke, DiNiro, McNamara, Sawyer, Finn, and Dumptruck. You're wanted in Creswood's office.”

“We're not going,” Nora said. “You can't punish us for having opinions.”

“It won't change anything if you don't go,” he warned her. “You'll still be suspended.”

“Not if they want a meeting first,” JD said, and Nora figured he knew a thing or two about how this worked. “Yeah, they'll make you cool your heels waiting for your parents, but that's not what she's doing, is it? What, they'd get a pardon if they told that bitch who Hard Harry is?”

“We don't know,” Betty said, frowning.

“Even if we did, we wouldn't tell them,” Martha said. “And it's _Dunnstock._ Asshole.”

“That's it. You're all suspended. Take your things and leave now.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They deal with being suspended and getting the photographs, with a few stops along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of mixed feelings going into this chapter, worries and fears and things about writing and me... and then work was rather awful for the last bit, and there's a part of me that's still worried I'm in trouble there, and so this took a while, and it was so hard to do I just about gave up on it.
> 
> I also tried other character's points of view, which was intimidating, so that didn't help much in confidence or speed.
> 
> And the end... I don't know about it... it's... well, it's bad, I guess...

* * *

“I can't believe we got suspended,” Betty whispered again. She must have said that five or six times now on their walk, and Heather felt bad for her. It wasn't like she'd asked for this, and she hadn't even said anything at that meeting. She'd just been sitting next to Martha and nodding in agreement. It wasn't right, and they all knew it.

Veronica, Nora, and Duke, they wore their suspensions like a badge of pride, not looking the least bit upset by them, and of course, the boys weren't bothered—JD didn't seem like he got bothered by much of anything—they hadn't gotten suspended.

“It'll be okay,” Heather said. “We're all in this together, right?”

“And Mark will talk to his dad as soon as he can,” Veronica said. “Judging from what he did at the meeting, he won't let this stand. Right, Mark?”

Mark nodded. “He may not know what to do with me, but he's not a bad man. He's also a bit of a stickler for the rules, for all their 'hippie' days, and this is clear retaliation. Creswood has no basis for your suspension.”

“And look at it this way,” JD said. “You're free to skip Fleming's love-in.”

“Thank God,” Duke said with an exaggerated shudder. “I don't want any part of that. Pretending I'm sorry Heather's dead or that I like any of those assholes? I'll pass.”

“It would be fifteen minutes of fame and maybe get you on television,” Veronica said, apparently still mad about what Duke had implied earlier about her being with both of the twins.

“If I get on television, it'll be for something meaningful, like us exposing who killed Heather or how corrupt Creswood is,” Duke said. “Hmm. Maybe I should be a reporter. I've got the figure for it. And the face.”

“In your dreams, lady,” JD told her, and she flipped him off.

Heather liked this, she thought. Their group was odd, and uneven, but it was good. She felt safe here, and she hadn't had that before.

She wished that Heather could have had that, too. Would she have, if she'd lived? Could she have been one of them, or would she have stayed so angry and bitter she'd never accept any of them as a part of this? Would it have made any difference if she was alive?

They wouldn't be like this if she was, so Heather supposed it had to happen, didn't it?

That was wrong. Chandler should be alive, too.

“So once we've got the pictures, what will we do?” Heather asked, thinking she would like to know that they could actually do something about what happened to Chandler. If she had committed suicide, there wasn't anything, but they'd said murder. That changed everything. “What if there isn't actually anything in there that points to why Heather died?”

“It's possible we won't find any more than what we had before,” Veronica said, grimacing. “Still, Heather had dirt on just about everyone, so it seems like she must have had something that got her killed. I mean, at first I thought maybe that Remington guy she was dating, but that letter didn't name any names, and it would have been difficult to prove.”

“I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure anyone would have believed you if you said that one of those guys forced it on you,” Nora said. “One, because you're popular, and somehow popular girls never seem to have to do things they don't want to do. Two, because they're rich college kids, and who is going to punish them for something like this? It's like Ram and Kurt getting away with attacking JD while he got suspended. That's the kind of unfair crap that happens all the time around here.”

“So it had to be someone else.”

“It's more likely it was someone else,” JD said. “It's not a guarantee, but looking around Heather's room, I'd say whoever did it knew her and had access to her house.”

“You mean... her parents?” Betty asked, horrified. “How could they?” 

JD snorted. “Not every parent loves their kids.”

Veronica grimaced. “And we can't rule out her boyfriend, since it took Heather narcing on us for my parents to suspect that JD had been in my house. They didn't even know before, so who knows who could have come and gone from Heather's house without anyone noticing?”

“Like us,” Nora said. “We got in while her mother was home.”

“And they have a maid,” Duke said. “Who found the body, and if she did—maybe there was more sign of a struggle before she cleaned. We might need to talk to her.”

“We will,” JD said. “We're just getting those pictures first.”

* * *

“This doesn't look like the photo kiosk,” Martha said, feeling very nervous. Not only would she have to tell her parents later that she'd been suspended, but also that she and her friends had taken the van not once but twice without their permission.

Her friends. Would them knowing that she'd finally made some again change anything?

“Relax. We have a bit of time to kill before we can pick up the photos,” JD said as he stopped the van in front of Mark's house. “We'll be a few minutes. Mark will check his dad's files, I'll feed my hamster, and the rest of you are free to wait here.”

“I could come in and do laundry,” Veronica offered, getting a bit of a flush out of Mark and a laugh out of JD. She smirked, and JD stopped to get a kiss before he went inside, one that really didn't need an audience.

Martha still felt a bit jealous of it all the same, and a bit worse when Nora hopped out of the van and joined Mark, talking to him in a low voice as she followed him inside. It seemed kind of obvious where the two of them were headed, just not as quickly as JD and Veronica.

“I'm sick of being stuck waiting in the car all the time,” Heather said, and Veronica looked back from where she'd been watching JD go inside, frowning at her. “When did we start taking orders from your boyfriend, anyway?”

“Would you rather you were giving the orders?” Veronica asked. “JD's not wrong about the time. We can't get the pictures before eleven, so we don't have any need to rush over there and wait. We might get more information from Mark's dad, and would you really begrudge the hamster a bit of food?”

“It's a furry rat.”

“It's cute,” McNamara said, horrified. “You can't hurt something that cute. And it's... good. It shows JD's not as scary as he seems, that he cares about more than Veronica and Mark and... and that's a good thing somehow. I don't know how, but it is.”

“I agree,” Betty said. “It makes me less nervous knowing that he has a fluffy pet. People with fluffy pets can't be all bad.”

Martha wasn't sure it was a good reason for trusting JD, but she was glad he was on their side and not someone else's, even if she thought maybe it would have been possible for him to have hurt Heather Chandler if she had really managed to keep him and Veronica apart.

“None of us as any real experience with this sort of thing,” Veronica said. “We're not Nancy Drew or the Hardy boys, all jokes aside. All we've got is our belief that Heather wouldn't have killed herself to go on and maybe some pictures. We're all making it up as we go on, but JD's seen more of the world than us, if only in this country, and he knows a lot about the bad side of things and the parts that people don't see or pretend don't exist. He's got good ideas, and he is willing to listen to ours, too.”

“He ignored me saying that we should talk to the maid.”

“No, he said we should go after we get the pictures,” McNamara corrected. “I don't see why that's such a bad thing.”

“We might not get anything here,” Heather said. “The maid at least could tell us what she saw when she found the body.”

“Assuming she would talk to us,” Martha said, “and judging from the way you treated anyone outside your social circle, I'm not so sure she would. You were probably horrible to her, making extra messes just for her to clean.”

Both Heathers and Veronica looked a bit sheepish, and Martha knew she was right about what they'd done.

“We might have to have one of you do the asking,” Veronica said. “Um... or Nora, if none of you are comfortable doing it.”

“We'll see,” Heather said, and Martha thought that she wanted to do that herself.

* * *

“Do you mind if I'm here?”

Mark forced a shrug, not sure what to say. He didn't know how he felt, hadn't since he met JD, really. The whole mess had him confused, and just as soon as he thought he understood what was going on, he was thrown by something else. Getting beaten, meeting JD, learning his doppelganger's father was abusive, finding out about his adoption, having someone ask him to talk him out of suicide, having Nora identify him as Hard Harry, Heather Chandler dying, the parents wanting to shut his show down, confronting his parents... all of it just piled on and on, and it blurred and he didn't know what he felt about anything anymore.

“I can go wait in the car,” Nora said, and he looked back at her, frowning. “I just... I know a lot about Hard Harry. He fascinates me, and I could listen to him for hours. I have. I memorized parts of the show, put together all those details... I wrote in and got myself a nickname and became a part of it. Only... Harry's not all you are like I'm not just the Eat Me, Beat Me lady. I... I want to know all of you. I said I did, but I want to be sure I really do. Does... does that make any sense or am I just talking crazy?”

He swallowed, trying to find words to say that hers were a relief, that he wanted to know her more than just what he had seen in the Eat Me, Beat Me letters. They were intriguing, everything his innocent mind had thought he wanted in a girl, a relationship, but that wasn't true. He needed more, just like she did, and he had to know she didn't just like Harry because as much as Harry was part of him, Mark was not half as bold or as crass.

And he didn't have a lot of things he'd claimed he did on the air, had faked plenty of that just for the sake of entertainment.

“It's not crazy,” he managed to say, and then he ducked away, opening his father's office and going inside. He went for the desk where all of the important papers seemed to get dumped, flipping through them and looking for the ones on Heather's death. He found the information on Malcolm Kaiser and winced, taking it from the pile and setting it to the side. He wanted to visit the hospital in person, and now he could, since he knew where Malcolm was.

“That about Heather?”

“Malcolm.”

“Oh.”

Mark got to the bottom of the stack and frowned. “This is weird. Emerson contacted him about a high number of students missing from her classes without warning.”

“She's a good teacher. Why is that weird?” Nora asked. “Or do you really think your father won't do anything about it?”

“Cheryl's on this list. So are a lot of others,” Mark said. “And no, it's not that I think he won't. It's still not eleven yet. We can go down to the administrative building and talk to him in person before we get the photos. You can all come with me if you want, hear what he has to say for yourselves.”

“I think that would be good for the others.”

He frowned. “Not you?”

“I trust you,” Nora told him, and that made him feel a bit funny. “I know if you tell me something, it's true.”

“Even if I've lied as Hard Harry?”

“About how much you masturbate?” she teased. “I kind of figured that was a lie from the beginning, but it was kind of funny.”

He grimaced. “Well, it seemed like a good idea in the beginning.”

“I told you I liked it. No need to get all defensive.”

He sighed, leaning over the desk. “I made up some of the letters. The one about the abused kid and the one from the frat boy.”

“You made up the abused kid?”

Mark shook his head. “No. He's real. I just... I didn't think he'd listen to me, but I knew he listened to the show so I used it to reach him. And I knew about Heather Chandler pimping out her friends because she tried to do it to Veronica, but JD took her away from things, and she turned on Veronica... so JD and I came up with the idea to expose Heather on air.”

“That's actually brilliant,” Nora said. “And it shows you use your powers for good, not destruction like those idiot parents think. You help people. You may get it wrong a few times, but you really do try to do the right thing.”

He wasn't so sure about that. He didn't know how to feel about her reaction, either. He had thought she'd be angrier about him faking the letters. She surprised him. That was a good thing, though he was still struggling to balance what he knew of Nora with what he'd imagined of his poetry lady.

“We should get back to the others.”

“Is there anything here about Heather? Because the green Heather will be pissed if there isn't, even if we stopped with good reason.”

“No, but none of this paperwork is from yesterday, which probably means he didn't bring it home and he has it with him at the office now.”

* * *

Heather wanted to complain about another delay in getting the photos and talking with the maid, but even she could see that it wasn't eleven yet, and they may as well deal with their suspensions sooner rather than later. If everyone was right about Mark's dad, he'd fix this for them, and their parents might not even need to know.

Betty and Martha could sure use that, seeing as they were never in trouble before.

Heather had her fair share, mostly Chandler's fault, but one didn't argue with the prize bitch of Westerburg, so Heather did what she was told.

And she puked her meals up to stay thin and became a nervous wreck who couldn't function without her copy of _Moby Dick_ nearby.

Now she was with a group of misfits and losers, and somehow she felt calmer—for the most part—and had no need for the book or losing her meals. She could do with something to eat, but after all her fuss over going straight for the maid, she refused to ask for food.

She'd wait until this was over with.

“Mark?” Mr. Hunter asked, coming out into the waiting area. “I thought it had to be a mistake when someone said you were here with a group of your friends. What about class? You—”

“Lunchtime, Dad,” Mark said, though it sounded very forced.

“And technically we're not his friends,” Heather added, getting a glare from JD.

“I'm afraid I don't understand. Are these all... friends of your brother?”

Nice of him to call JD by name, wasn't it? Heather almost pushed on that, since she could tell it was a weakness, but Mark spoke first.

“They suspended everyone who spoke up for Hard Harry at the meeting last night.”

Hunter frowned, looking around at them in disbelief. She knew she'd be hard to forget, since she'd called out Creswood on Martha's name. Veronica's proximity to JD probably gave her away as the girl who'd been yelled at for defending her boyfriend, and Martha was hard to forget, large as she was. Nora, well, she was pretty bold, too.

“I think you're missing someone.”

“We got the boot before home room, so we didn't actually see if Paige made it to school today,” Nora told him. “Not that it changes anything. We were all kicked out as soon as Creswood's stooge spotted us in the hall.”

“It had nothing to do with me breaking up with Ram,” McNamara said. “Even if it was really funny when they ran away from JD and Mark.”

Hunter frowned. “Mark, were you... fighting?”

“No,” he answered, irritated.

“The idiots are scared of me, and since Mark looks like me, well... let's just say it's made things very interesting, and Mark showed up just in time to spook them and get them running off pissing themselves again,” JD said, smiling for a moment. Then he stopped. “That doesn't change what happened to the girls. “All of them were suspended.”

“Not me or JD, and you know Betty didn't even say anything last night,” Mark added, looking over at Finn, who pushed her glasses up and gulped at the commissioner. “Creswood did it because of what they said at the meeting. Nothing else.”

Hunter frowned. “That's a serious accusation. I don't see how Creswood would risk it when she knows she's already facing some accusations of misconduct.”

“Yeah, but throwing out anyone who disagrees with her is her MO,” Nora said. “It happens all the time. And she will probably lie about this. In my case, I suppose I had it coming. I hate my math class and don't go very often.”

“Really.”

She shrugged. “Exactly what use is calculus in the real world?”

Hunter couldn't summon a response to that. He just blinked, and Heather found it kind of funny. What would he do if he knew that was the girl who had her sights set on his son? Would he let her suspension stand, worried about her influence on Mark, who was probably as squeaky clean as Betty and Martha over there?

“Anyone else have a reason she could use to suspend them?”

Veronica grimaced. “The Heathers and I have ditched before, too, but we were Heathers, so we got away with it.”

“Heathers?”

“The top of Westerburg society,” Heather said. “Heather Chandler was considered the true head of it, the queen, but Heather and I were part of it, too. And Veronica came later. We got away with just about everything—like Ram and Kurt.”

“So Creswood does have reason to suspend you?”

“Not Betty or Martha,” McNamara said. “They've never been in trouble before ever and they're so nice and kind that—well, they don't deserve this. We spoke up, but Betty didn't.”

“I did. Because Hard Harry tried to tell everyone that the prank they pulled on me was wrong,” Martha said, tears welling up in her eyes. “He also told me... I wasn't alone, that we all wanted to matter to someone, and that... that we were all desperate. He made me feel better after the whole school laughed at me. He's not as bad as people say.”

Hunter took a deep breath and let it out. “I have yet to hear enough of those broadcasts to make any judgments of my own on that end, but Hard Harry is out of my hands. The authorities will be dealing with him.”

“The suspensions aren't out of your hands,” JD said, and Hunter frowned at him. “You have a duty to make sure this bitch isn't—”

“JD,” Mark hissed in warning.

“Sorry, this... lady,” JD corrected himself. “You need to be sure she's not abusing her power, right?”

“I do, and I will look into this matter, I promise all of you that,” Hunter said. “Mark, can I have a word with you in private?”

“If it's about not spending time with JD or the other troublemakers you think he introduced me to, no,” Mark told him with a thin smile. “I came here for one reason only, and it wasn't for another lecture. We asked for your help, you promised to look into it, and our business is done.”

“Damn it, Mark. You're not being fair—”

“You don't want to start down that road,” Mark told him. “Because fair is sure as hell not what you did, so we're dropping this now. We can fight about it at home, unless you plan on using it against them, in which case you'll make a liar out of me because I told them you'd actually do something about this.”

“I will,” Hunter insisted. “It's not too much to ask to have a short, civil conversation with you, is it?”

“Were you even at breakfast this morning? Oh, wait, you were. You were interrogating JD. That your idea of a nice conversation?”

“You don't have to defend me,” JD said, touching Mark's shoulder. “It wasn't even that bad. Shame about the food, though. I never really had a breakfast like that before, not that someone cooked at home.”

“Ooh, look, a little sob story from the scary kid in the back coat. Don't tell me,” Heather said. “You're not deranged, just misunderstood.”

“Heather,” Veronica snapped, but JD just started laughing, walking away as he did.

“I swear, there is something really wrong with him,” Heather muttered, shaking her head. “And he has the keys. Great. We better go before your boy toy leaves us behind, Veronica.”

“He wouldn't do that,” Martha said. “That's my parents' van.”

“And he wouldn't leave Mark or Veronica,” Betty said. Then she got bold and added, “though I think he'd gladly leave you behind, Heather.”

“You know,” Nora told her. “I think Betty's right about that.”

Heather shrugged. “So? What do I care what JD thinks of me? Only Veronica here is stupid enough to think he's the better of the twins.”

“Bite me, Heather. You're just jealous, and it's not like you stand any chance with Mark, either.”

“And here I thought you didn't have any friends, Mark,” Hunter observed, looking almost amused.

Mark flushed red. “Uh...”

“And for the record, all I was going to say in private was that. Just that it was nice to see you actually talking to people and making friends, even if you did it because of your brother and I have some reservations about a few of your companions,” Hunter said. “And your mother wanted to make sure we asked JD for dinner, so make sure you pass that along to him, will you?”

“I don't think he'll want to come,” Mark admitted, looking a little queasy, “but I'll tell him.”

“And we'd like to meet his father and work out some kind of arrangement with him about the two of you,” Hunter said. “Naturally, you're older and JD can visit as often as he likes, but he did mention he moved around a lot, and if it were such a thing where his father had to leave but JD was interested in staying here, with you, we'd hope we could work out something there.”

“Wow,” Mark said. “That must have been some lecture Mom gave you after we left this morning."

Hunter fought a smile. “It was. Now get back to school before you miss any of your classes.”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Heather knew she wasn't the only one trying not to laugh because they all knew no one was going back to school today, even if they needed Hunter to overturn their suspensions.

* * *

“Okay, let's see the damned photos already.”

“Someone get Duke a donut,” Veronica muttered, moving from her seat to take up JD's lap and the best place to look at the pictures he had in his hand. Duke was probably regretting passing him the receipt for the photos. “Someone's cranky because she hasn't eaten in years.”

“Screw you, Veronica.”

“Can we stop fighting amongst ourselves for a minute?” Betty asked. “Please?”

“I'd really like it if we could,” Martha said. “It's... uncomfortable.”

“Sarcasm is a skill, and you both could do well to learn it as well as thicken your skins a bit. You never would have survived Heather Chandler,” Duke said, shaking her head.

“You barely did,” Veronica reminded her. “Or do you still think your bulimia was nothing?”

Duke folded her arms over her chest. “Just because I was a little annoyed that this trip kept getting put off and put off and we weren't even talking to the maid doesn't mean you need to be a bitch, Veronica.”

“I told you we'd go,” JD said, frustrated. “I just wanted the pictures first, in case we had something we really needed to talk to her about. Not that she might not know a few things about how Heather's body was, but our focus is more about who killed her than how she died. Or if she was killed at all. So I wanted to see if we really did have a motive in the photographs before we went after the maid.”

“Oh,” Duke said. “That... makes a bit of sense, actually.”

JD smirked at her. “I'm not just a pretty face, you know.”

She snorted. “You're not even that.”

“Oh, some of us disagree with that,” Veronica said. “Very much so. Actually, I think everyone else in this van does, right?”

“I do,” Nora said, giving Mark a wide grin that had him blushing.

“Well, Mark is cute, and since he and JD look so much alike...” McNamara said, smiling as she shrugged, letting her words trail off. Martha and Betty just flushed a bit red.

“Can we please just go back to the photographs?” Mark asked, sounding very uncomfortable.

“Oh, please. Why are you so upset?” JD asked, looking up from the package. “Everyone thinks you're cuter than me. I'm insulted.”

“I don't think so,” Veronica said, pulling JD's head down for a kiss. She heard grumbling around her but didn't really care so much, at least not yet. She just wanted to have one more moment of good before they looked at the pictures and maybe a killer.

“Enough already,” Duke said. “If you want to keep sucking face, fork over the damned pictures.”

JD didn't, ending the kiss and pulling the photographs up, looking at each one and passing them on once he and Veronica had seen them. She grimaced at more of the same ones from before passed her eyes, feeling sick for looking at friends and strangers like that.

“Can we burn this negative?” McNamara asked. “I never, ever want to see that again.”

“Yeah,” JD agreed, his voice coming out strange. “Please tell me this isn't who I think it is.”

Veronica turned back from Heather to look at the photo and the one after it and the one after that, all three of them with the same man in them. Different girls, but all him. “Oh, God. No.”

“Um... can someone explain that reaction for us?” Mark asked. “I have no idea who you think that is, though I take it most of you recognize the man in those photos.”

“It's Richard Chandler.”

“You mean—”

“Heather Chandler's father.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation of the photos raises more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I'm not even sure what to say now.
> 
> It is very hard to know what might have been going through Heather Chandler's head, that's for sure. Hopefully, this works.

* * *

“Heather Chandler's father is in those pictures... with girls our age?” Betty asked, her voice squeaking a bit as she did. “He was... he did... that?”

“That's... kind of disgusting,” Martha said. “He would have been old enough to be their father. Any of them's father. He shouldn't have done that.”

“Is that... you, Heather?” Heather asked Duke, frowning, though she didn't actually think she had to ask. The girl in the fourth photo wasn't facing the camera, but Heather knew that sweater. She'd bought it for Duke as a birthday gift, and it was her favorite shirt for a bit, even after Chandler teased her about it because she wore it so much.

Then, for no reason Heather could tell—though it hurt and she figured Duke was mad at her and not telling her why—she'd stopped wearing it altogether.

Duke flushed red. “It wasn't like that. I never—I mean, he kind of tried something once—but then he seemed to... he got sober or something. Said I was fat and left me alone. I never said anything. It didn't seem to matter, and then after that we hung out mostly at Veronica's after school, and it was a lot better, so I didn't think about it again. I didn't have to see him.”

“Oh, Heather,” Heather whispered, pulling her into her arms and giving her a big hug as the other girl shuddered. She hadn't even known. She should have known.

“So, wait,” Nora said, looking around at them. “Does this mean this creep killed his daughter to keep her quiet about what he was doing? Was she actually using his thing for underage girls for... what, a bigger allowance? I know she was forcing you guys to go to parties where the guys assumed you'd have sex with them—”

“She kept saying it was for our good, though,” Heather said, looking up from Duke to Nora's frowning face. “She thought college guys were better and I should ditch Ram for one. And she thought Veronica would like her guy. She also took thinking JD was scary to bit of an extreme.”

“I don't know. She seemed to be pretty controlling to me,” Veronica said, and JD put his arm around her, holding her tighter. “And why else would she have those pictures if not for blackmail?”

“Yes, but keeping something like that secret?” Betty asked, shaking her head. “Not only was her father cheating on her mother, he was doing it with girls her age and younger. That's so wrong.”

“Um,” Martha began. “I don't even want to say it, but if he did it to those other girls—”

“Heather, too?”

“It's possible,” JD said, giving the pictures a disgusted look. “And she seemed like a prize bitch to me, so it wouldn't surprise me if it was just blackmail, except... there had to be some reason her father chose to kill her instead of just paying up again. It's not like these pictures are new. That one has a Christmas tree in it. So she knew for months if not longer that this was going on.”

“She wasn't the type to sit on it, either,” Veronica said. “If she had this, she probably used it.”

Heather bit her lip. “She never did anything like that to me over those pictures of Ram.”

Duke snorted, pulling away and trying to straighten her blazer like she hadn't just had a meltdown. “Of course she didn't. She didn't have to. You did everything she told you to do.”

“That was uncalled for, Duke,” Veronica said. She sighed. “We need a way to prove that this was enough for Chandler's dad to do something to her and if he did. Right now, the police think suicide, and they won't get convinced by a few pictures like this.”

“Did Chandler keep a diary?” JD asked, combing his fingers through Veronica's hair. “It would have been in the box with her photos, wouldn't it?”

“If she had one, I think it would have been there,” Veronica said, looking to Heather. “I never saw her write in one. I don't know if that's just because she enjoyed harassing me about mine or—”

“She thought writing was stupid,” Duke said. “And diary writing was the worst. She wouldn't have had one. She told us to burn ours, but Veronica was stubborn about it.”

“I like stubborn,” JD said, kissing Veronica's cheek as she flushed red. “Stubborn is good.”

“Get a room,” Duke muttered, shaking her head again.

“You know half the reason he's doing it is to irritate you, right?” Nora asked, smiling. “Not that he doesn't want to kiss her, but he really enjoys getting a rise out of you.”

“Hey, no giving away all of my secrets,” JD told her, wagging a finger at her. “That's not very nice coming from my future sister-in-law.”

“I think you're just jealous you don't know any of hers to tell,” Duke said, rolling her eyes.

“As amusing as it can be when you two start bickering, we need to stay focused here,” Mark said, speaking up for the first time in a while. “We may or may not have the reason for Heather's death here in these pictures, but we can't prove it, and we don't know what might have caused her father to kill her if he did. That's not in these pictures.”

“Suppose she wasn't a complete bitch,” Veronica said, her mouth twisting up with her own words. “Just... Okay, so she was mostly one, but maybe she wasn't pimping her friends just to be popular but because she thought college guys were a step up and they weren't. Also say... she started having everyone hang at my house so she could protect us from her father. What if her blackmail against him wasn't all about greed? What if she was trying to keep her father from going after other teenage girls? And if she did, and he was with another—”

“She'd have blown a gasket, especially under the pressure she was losing control of you and having Courtney accuse her of being the letter writer,” Duke said. “She'd have thrown a huge fuss, screaming and yelling and probably going straight to the police or something.”

“So her father poisoned her?” Heather asked, doubtful. “Wouldn't she be too mad to drink anything he gave her?”

“Yeah, and poison's typically a woman's weapon of choice, not a man's,” JD said. “Don't look at me like that. It was on Sixty Minutes. Some report on murder in America.”

“I think I saw it,” Mark agreed, his voice quiet. “And the police here only _assumed_ it was poison.”

“Wait. She might not have been poisoned?”

“You said she would have yelled and made a fuss,” Mark said, looking like he was going to puke if he kept talking. “What better way to shut her up than smothering her?”

“Shit, you're right,” JD said. “And if he did it with a pillow or something, there wouldn't be marks around her throat for people to see. Though I think they can tell if they look at something else...”

“The eyes.”

“Okay, this conversation is officially creeping me out,” Duke said. “The murder twins need to give it a rest already.”

“We still might not be able to prove that happened,” Veronica said, ignoring her. “How do we get the police to look at her body again? And don't tell me you two think we should go confront Heather's dad with this. He'll deny it, and we can't prove any of the blackmail. Even showing him the pictures won't be enough.”

“I think we have a way,” Nora said, looking at Mark, who nodded, though reluctantly.

“We might have more than a way,” JD said. “Remember, these pictures aren't new. If we think something went down sooner, that would be on a different roll of film.”

“And missing completely from the box, which doesn't help us.”

“Unless Heather didn't pick up that roll yet.”

* * *

“The receipt is not in this box,” McNamara said, putting it to the side again. “If she had it, it's probably in her purse or her car, and we don't know where at least one of those things is and can't get into the other.”

“Check the photos of her room,” Nora suggested. “If her purse was in there, we'd see it, and we can use it to get into her car if the receipt isn't in the bag.”

“She had several purses,” Duke said. “We'd need weeks to search them all.”

“But judging from her closet, the purse she used last would be sitting out somewhere,” Nora said. Then she frowned. “I really don't remember seeing one, and that did seem a little weird to me. Almost all of us have a bag of some kind. We have to carry things with us at all times, you know, for emergencies.”

“Emergencies?” Betty asked with a frown. She had hers because she thought it was what a girl did. Her mother had one, so she had one, and she'd tried to get one of the nicer ones like the popular girls had. Veronica had given her the really expensive one for her birthday the year before the party she didn't show up to, and it was still a favorite. “I just use mine to keep my money and keys in.”

“She means periods,” Martha said. “Not that I carry a purse, but I still have stuff on hand if I need it for that sort of thing.”

Betty flushed, feeling stupid. Of course they all had that in their purses. Sometimes it was hard to know when that might start, and it was really bad to be without some kind of supplies.

“Wow. I think there are way too many ladies around right now,” JD muttered. “We're so outnumbered it's a bit scary to think about, Mark.”

“I won't dignify that.”

JD grinned at him, and he shook his head. It was easy to like Mark, quiet as he was, and find JD very intimidating, and Betty was still not quite sure what Veronica saw in JD other than that he was a bad boy. That wasn't really that appealing, was it?

Then again, Betty had only French-kissed someone once, and it hadn't gone well.

“Nora's right,” Veronica said, flipping through the pictures again. “There's no purse in sight in any of these photos. Her keys and lipstick are all over the dressing table, though, and that looks like her driver's license and her coin purse.”

Duke took the picture from her. “Yeah, that looks a lot like someone dumped the purse out on the table. Could have been Heather, though, if she was about to change bags.”

“So, again, no proof.”

“We know where her keys are,” Veronica said, frowning. “Though... we don't know that the receipt is in her car or even if it exists at all.”

“We could go ask for any pictures for Heather Chandler,” McNamara suggested. “Though... they probably know now that she's dead and won't give it to us.”

“Maybe not, but it's worth an ask, and we're still here,” JD said. “I think you Heathers should do the asking. They might get confused.”

“And there's more than one kiosk in town. We don't know that it was this one.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” JD snapped. “Just go ask. At least that's doing something. We need a way to actually prove what happened, and unless we can find new photos or something useful, even broadcasting our theory won't help.”

“We will need... details,” Mark said, and Nora took his hand before looking over at Veronica.

Betty thought there was something going on there, but she didn't know what it could be. She didn't know what to think. She supposed that maybe they had secrets, both of them dating the twins like they were.

“I think we'll manage,” Veronica said. “And I can even make it look real. I did it before.”

Mark frowned. “Wait, you were the one that wrote that—”

“Out of the way,” Duke said, almost pushing him out of the doorway. “Come on, Heather. Let's go see if they have any of Heather's photos.”

Betty frowned as they got out, walking over to the kiosk again. “What was that about?”

Veronica took a deep breath. “Martha, you should know that... I was the one who forged that horrible note from Kurt Kelly. Chandler ordered me to, but I should have stood up to her back then. I'm sorry I didn't.”

“Veronica,” Martha said, her betrayal coming out in her voice. “How could you?”

“I know saying I'm sorry isn't enough, but it's true,” Veronica said. “And when Hard Harry spoke to you on the radio about it... He shamed me, and I should have been ashamed, and I am. I swore I was never doing it again.”

“She did. I was there when she did,” JD told her. “Not that it helps now since it already happened and you already got hurt, but trust me—it won't happen again.”

Martha frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think he means that you have our protection now. Not just his, though that might be enough, but you've got friends now. Betty. Me. Veronica. Heather McNamara. Mark. And Duke stood up for you at that meeting. You're not alone,” Nora said. “They won't ever do that to you again, not unless they want to mess with the rest of us.”

“Oh.”

* * *

“We can't go around asking every single photo place if Chandler has pictures there,” Duke said, sounding frustrated again, not that Nora blamed her. She was tired of their search, and she really wanted to be able to do something about Richard Chandler, even if he didn't kill his daughter. He was a creep and needed to be stopped.

“Agreed,” McNamara said. “I'm not asking another one. I didn't want to ask the first time, but each one after that has only been worse. If she took more pictures, she already picked them up.”

“And her dad destroyed them,” Martha said, sighing. “So what do we do if we can't prove it?”

Nora willed herself not to look at Mark. She wasn't going to give away his secret. She knew that the others might deserve to know, but it was up to him to tell them. Considering what the school had done suspecting that they might know who Hard Harry was, they should probably keep it to themselves.

What if Duke was too bitter and turned him in or made one of her snide remarks in front of the wrong people? Hell, how would Duke react to that at all? She might be pissed, and they couldn't afford to rock the boat right now.

“We'll give what we have to Hard Harry,” Veronica said. “He can get it on air, and once it reaches the other students, they'll have to look into it... and even if they don't... Well, we'll have exposed Mr. Chandler for the pervert he is, and that has to be worth it, right?”

“But we'll have to wait for the mail to get to him,” Duke said. “And who knows if he'd even put it on the air?”

“We know he will,” JD said. “He's not going to ignore something like this. It proves that this place is as corrupt as he's been saying it was all along.”

“Yeah, but they're trying to shut him down. What if they do before he gets the information?” Duke pressed. “What do we do then?”

“You really are a pessimist, aren't you?” Nora asked. Technically, they'd have to wait at least one day before Mark should use their information, to give the letter a chance to actually get through the mail to him, not do it tonight even if he could. “Wait. We might be able speed it up.”

“It's not like he gives a number out to call in,” Martha said, frowning, and Nora wondered if she had thought about doing just that. Had she also written in? “What can we do?”

“Drop the letter off at the same store that has his mailbox,” Veronica said. “They might pull it and put it right in there for him.”

“It's as good a thought as any,” JD said. “Where is this place again?”

“Three blocks up on the right,” Mark told him, and Nora noticed no one actually seemed to think it was at all strange he knew that. She was glad they didn't, since they needed to keep his secret a bit longer.

“Do you think it will work?” Betty asked, “Giving them the envelope?”

“It's worth a try, though we'll have to go in and get the stuff we need to send it first,” Veronica said. “We'll need a large envelope, some tape, and postage.”

“They'll weigh it before sending it out,” JD told her. He sighed when he saw them watching him. “Come on. My dad runs a business all across the country. You think he wouldn't have invested in a postal meter for it? Of course he did. Why is everything I say so suspicious, anyway?”

“You're scary,” McNamara told him, “but it's starting to be a good thing.”

He frowned, pulling the van into the lot and parking it a row away from the doors. “All right, Mark, let's go.”

“Wait, why you two?” Duke asked. “You aren't in charge of everything, and this is something one of us could handle.”

“And maybe neither of you should go in,” Nora said. “What if they're watching this place looking for someone to be Hard Harry? Any of us girls is probably a better choice for someone writing in.”

“Not Betty,” JD said. “No offense, but you're too damned innocent to be one of Harry's listeners.”

“Um...”

“I need to check on something while we're here, so I'm going in anyway,” Mark said, and Nora grimaced, knowing what he was going to check on even if it was crazy. She was going in there, too.

“Relax. We'll confuse them by there being two of us.”

“And Nora and I will buy the packaging supplies to distract them,” Veronica said, and Nora grinned back at at her, liking that plan a lot.

* * *

The girls went up to the counter, annoying the clerk with a lot of questions as Mark and JD made their way to the mailboxes. He only saw the one clerk, though it was hard to say if there was anyone here in the back, waiting for them.

“Relax, would you?” JD asked. “I don't see any cameras, and trust me, those things are really obvious. Plus I parked far enough back to look for police cars, and there weren't any, marked or unmarked. They'll think of this soon, but they don't seem to be here yet.”

“They will be after we do this,” Mark muttered, taking out his keys and unlocking the box. He reached in and pulled out three envelopes, one of them a lot bigger than he'd expected. Crap. Where was he going to put this?

“Admittedly, it'll suck if you have to shut it down, but it will be worth it to expose a pervert and possible killer, right?”

Mark nodded. He let JD wander over to Veronica's side, asking her about the ridiculous price of tape at the store. He took his mail with him outside, opening the largest envelope first, since he needed to make it smaller if at all possible, but it was marked with a very annoying Do Not Bend.

He shook his head as he pulled out the paper inside, staring at it in disbelief.

_Dear Asshole,_

_I swore I'd never write into this stupid creepfest, but I don't have much of a choice now. I've never liked you or your show, but it doesn't matter. If you get this, I'm assuming I'll be dead. Not just because this was something where I'd only write if it was over my dead body, but because I know what's going to happen to me if I do._

_Social suicide at best. At worst..._

_Fuck it._

_Fuck me with a chainsaw. I'm asking Hard Harry for help._

_I put the pictures in here, too, and you can give them to the police later, though if they're anything like before, they won't do shit about them. I mailed some of the others to them, and nothing happened. I can't stop him, and it pisses me off that you might actually be able to._

_I want it down on record that I didn't ever write into this thing before. I'm not Miss Perfect. I'm not Eat Me, Beat Me. Those fools aren't me. I'm only doing this because there's no other way I can think of, and I know he won't quit. I forced him to for a bit, told him I could do damage with the pictures, and I thought it was enough. I thought I'd won, but now I know he's up to it again._

Mark swallowed, reaching into the envelope and taking out one of the pictures, knowing it was what they'd spent their afternoon hunting for, and while he didn't want to see it, he had to look, had to be sure.

He shoved it back inside as soon as he got a good look, feeling sick. He didn't want to think about that, but he could see why this would be something Heather Chandler wouldn't let go, even if she wasn't the best person in the universe.

_Christ. She was so damned young, too. I'm not Mother Theresa, and I'd rather not care._

_I don't fucking want to care, okay? I don't._

_But he's getting worse. Someone has to do something, and you better not be the same pervert idiot as I thought you were. You have to be the great thing all the others think you are, the one that cares. You're the one who's going to right all the wrongs in the world. Do it, damn it._

_You offered your home to that abused kid. You better do a hell of a lot more for this girl._

_Maybe even for me. I'm going to face him again in a few minutes, and it might be the last thing I do. I know he can get rough. He was with those girls._

_I don't even know why he never tried it with me. Sometimes I'm afraid he did, and I blocked it out because he's my father._

_I hate him._

_I hate myself. I hate what I've become. I hate what knowing this about him has driven me to. I can see it now, and I hate it, all of it._

_Don't play_ All She Wants to Do Is Dance _again. Ever. It's not even your kind of music. You can do better. And you better, when you read this out._

_Don't you dare chicken out on me. Read the whole fucking thing on the air. Tell the world. Talk hard._

_The Lady in Red_


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day seems very long until the broadcast that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure why my brain couldn't let this plot go, and I am... sorry for that.
> 
> I did actually look up speakerphones and found ones that existed in the timeframe, not that it helps much, but they did.

* * *

“Looks like you've seen a ghost,” Nora observed, though she'd never really liked that phrase. It was just common, and common seemed to help with this awkward thing she and Mark were in the middle of. She'd left JD and Veronica somehow flirting over packaging supplies and gone to find him instead.

She'd figured he'd get his mail while he was here, and she was right, but she hadn't really planned on JD. She wasn't sure many people could. The guy was unpredictable and a little off. She got the sense that if not for Veronica and Mark, he'd be a _lot_ off, the kind that had all the parents worried, but JD seemed to have a bit of balance when he was around the rest of them.

That was good, wasn't it? 

“Mark?” Nora asked, bothered by the fact that he hadn't responded to her yet. She reached over and put her hand on his arm. “Hey, you still in there?”

“Heather picked up the pictures,” he whispered, reaching up to take off his glasses and wipe his face. “She sent them to Harry.”

“Wait, the plan we had, the crazy idea—she _did_ that?” Nora asked. “After she hated the show as much as she did and was trying to keep people from listening?”

“The enemy of my enemy,” he said. “Maybe. I don't... well, I know part of what she was thinking. She couldn't reach anyone with the pictures, so she thought Harry could.”

“Makes sense. She couldn't shut you down, despite her attempts to get everyone to stop listening to you,” Nora said. “And it was what we figured we'd do to get the message out there.”

Mark closed his eyes, looking pained. “I don't know that I can do this. I mean, I have to, but this is... It's too much. I know about JD's dad and him hitting him, but Chandler's father was... And I'm supposed to tell everyone that, to expose him. This isn't what I planned on, what I intended to do. I don't understand. Why did Malcolm try and kill himself? Why did Heather have to die? Why couldn't she have—she could have had help. She just had to ask for it. Malcolm did. He asked the wrong person, but he could have had more than me and—”

“Mark, this isn't your fault. Heather knew what her father was doing, and she dealt with it her own way. She could have written in before, since as JD pointed out more than once, those pictures were older,” Nora reminded him. “You can't make someone get help even if it's what they need most. None of us can. And it's a lot to ask of you, since you're a confused teenager with your own problems, trying to find your way. We might all put too much on Hard Harry, but we do need him, all of us do. Just remember that Harry's not alone, either.”

He sighed. “What if I get this wrong? Malcolm could still die, and while this makes it kind of clear that Heather didn't kill herself, and not because of that letter I faked, this is different. If I don't get it right, he goes free to hurt other girls. And Nora, that picture, that girl...”

“She's just a little kid, isn't she?”

He managed a small nod, and Nora put her arms around him, holding on tight. She watched JD and Veronica come out of the store. Their smiles had already stopped, but JD looked almost scary again when he saw Mark.

“What happened? Someone threaten him?”

Nora shook her head. “Heather had other photos. You were right. And like we were planning on doing, she sent them to Harry.”

Veronica winced. “I was almost hoping there wasn't any other pictures. They're bad, aren't they? They have to be.”

Mark managed a nod, tightening his grip on the envelope.

* * *

“What do we do now?” Veronica asked, twisting her lip and fidgeting in a way JD found extremely distracting. He wanted to do something about that, but now was very much not the time for it. Mark looked like he was about to puke again—he did not handle stress well, but JD also had a bad feeling about what was in those pictures.

No wonder Mark was about to lose his lunch.

“We send them home,” JD said, looking toward the van. The others were sitting in the open door, talking but also watching them. He didn't like that, either. “Until those suspensions get reversed, there's a chance they could tell someone about Harry if they know.”

“I don't think any of them would do that,” Veronica said. Then she winced. “Well, maybe Duke.”

“Maybe any of them. I'm still not willing to take that risk,” JD said. He hadn't thought he'd give two fucks for anyone, ever, but then he came here and not only had he fallen pretty hard for Veronica, but he had a brother. Mark shouldn't mean anything to him, it wasn't like they shared much other than a face, but he found himself protective of the other boy anyway. “They don't get to know.”

“I agree,” Nora said. He wasn't all that surprised. She was pretty protective of him as well. “I think we better make a show of putting together the other envelope, too. Mark can use the real letter tonight, but if we don't do our fake one, they'll know that we know who Harry is and that he got a letter.”

“Right. You two go get started on that,” JD said. “Mark needs a few minutes.”

Nora didn't want to leave him, that much was clear, but Veronica took her arm and pulled her along, leaving the two of them behind. He took out a cigarette and passed it to his brother. Mark took it, letting JD light it for him.

JD did the same with one for himself. “We need to keep this from them?”

“I don't know. Nora could probably handle it better than I am.” Mark took a drag, let it out. “Those pictures aren't of a kiss, and she's way too damned young.”

“Damn,” JD swore. He'd figured on that, but it was another thing to know, for Mark to have said it. “I know he's got money, but still... how'd he figure on getting away with that if his daughter knew before? She was blackmailing him, right?”

“I'm not sure. She said he stopped for a bit. Her letter also says she tried to get the police to do something and they didn't. Maybe because he's rich, maybe because the pictures we saw weren't as explicit and the girls were older,” Mark said. He shook his head. “I don't know.”

JD would look at the other photographs himself later. Not here. He didn't want the other girls knowing. “We'll drop the others off at home, and we'll get ready for tonight.”

Mark grimaced. “I'm supposed to tell you you're invited for dinner and my parents want you to stay with us if you want and your dad moves on.”

“Well, dinner is a good enough excuse for me to be there, so that's fine, but we're going to be screwed if your parents talk to my dad.” JD wouldn't mind moving in with Mark, actually, but Bud was not going to be happy once he knew about the Hunters and Mark.

He wasn't sure that Bud would only hurt Mark for looking like JD. The bastard would probably like to make them both pay for the crime of existing.

“We have to do something about that,” JD said. “Maybe at dinner. I'll make up something about Dad's business taking him out of town for a bit.”

“It'll work if they haven't already talked to him,” Mark said. “Hopefully they haven't.”

JD nodded. Last thing he wanted was his dad brought into all this. Bud had been angry enough before, but that was nothing to where he'd be by now. JD knew better than to ever go home now, not that he would have, but that was suicide.

And that brought up something else. “I didn't work today.”

“Do you have a set schedule?”

JD shook his head. “Not yet. I was thinking of dropping out and getting a GED to finish things off, so I could work basically full time.”

“Yeah, that won't fly if you're staying with us,” Mark told him. “My parents are big on this college thing, and you would be 'wasting your life' if you didn't at least try.”

“Maybe you would. My grades are shit, my records are worse, and there's no way I can pull them up in time.”

“You could stabilize enough to make college if you weren't moving around and being abused,” Mark said. “Um... sorry.”

JD shrugged, finishing his cigarette. “Let's see if the girls are ready to go yet. We need to make a stop on the way after we drop the others off. I have an idea.”

* * *

“Explain to me again why we had to get a phone,” Veronica said, taking up half Mark's couch in his broadcast room. Nora had the other half, and Mark was sitting in his desk chair, watching JD with interest as he unplugged Mark's phone wire and replaced it in the phone he'd insisted on getting after he dropped the others off and switched cars.

Veronica knew they'd need to make some kind of permanent arrangement as far as that went, though her parents weren't likely to let her get a car in any form, not even the station wagon they were using now, especially after taking it without permission.

And being suspended.

She was going to be in a lot of trouble, that was for sure, but she'd deal with that later. She had to be here to see this through first. They had to do something about Chandler's dad, and they'd have to deal with the rest later.

“This is not an ordinary phone.”

“It looks pretty ordinary from here,” Veronica said, aware she was baiting JD a little when they really didn't have time for that—and she wasn't really one for an audience, either. “Which again, begs the question, why that phone?”

“It has a very convenient feature I have a feeling we'll need later,” JD said, lifting it up and gesturing to the buttons along the side. “This is the 7406D from AT&T business. My dad has one of these—well, an earlier model—and while most of it isn't that useful since he doesn't have other offices or rooms hooked up to it, but it does have a speaker option.”

“Okay,” Veronica said, “but Mark never needed the speaker before, so why is it so important today?”

“You're going to give Mark here Richard Chandler's number so that after Mark reads Heather's letter, he can call him.”

“What?” Mark asked, eyes wide. “Oh, no. I'm not doing that. I can't. I'll read the letter, and I'll send those horrible pictures to the police, but calling him? No. I can't.”

“And that's why we got the speakerphone,” JD said. “If you find you can't, I'll take over, but it will be a bit easier with this. I can just... step in.”

“Oh, God,” Veronica said. She didn't like this. She knew that it wasn't safe for Mark, either, but she didn't want JD doing this. What if he said too much or what he did say was the wrong thing? This could go so badly, and it scared her.

“And if my parents come in while we're doing this?”

“They know about me, so they're not going to assume you're talking to yourself, and if they get persistent, we pull it off speaker, one of us and the girls act as a distraction, and we carry on,” JD said. “This is too important to screw up. I'm trying to cover our bases.”

“Good idea.”

JD put his hand on Mark's shoulder. “You won't be alone for this one, okay? We'll all be with you.”

Somehow, Veronica wasn't sure Mark found that reassuring.

* * *

“I didn't know I'd have so many guests,” Mrs. Hunter said, smiling. “Though I think I'm going to need a bigger table with the amount of friends Mark now has.”

JD saw his brother redden, and he had to smile again, even if he wasn't thrilled about this dinner. He wanted to be—he liked the idea of home cooked meals, and even as awkward as the conversation tended to be, Mrs. Hunter was a good cook—but he didn't want to do this now. He knew Mark and the girls felt the same—all they wanted was to get that letter read on air as quickly as possible.

“I'm glad you didn't mind us staying for dinner,” Veronica said. “Tonight's my parents' big bingo night, and my mom even skips paté on bingo nights. I can cook for myself, but the house is so big and empty...”

“Oh, we are very glad to have you,” Mrs. Hunter said, and JD tried not to laugh. Veronica had laid it on pretty thick there, and Mark's mom had eaten it up, even if she shouldn't have. His girl knew how to work people, and JD liked it. Some. “Both of you.”

Nora forced a smile. “Well, I didn't realize it had gotten that late, but since Veronica was my ride and my parents were fine with it... Thank you for dinner.”

Mrs. Hunter beamed. “You're very welcome, dear.”

Mark reached for his drink, looking very much like he'd like to kill himself right then and there.

“Speaking of having you here,” Mr. Hunter began. “We were wondering if we should speak to your father about arranging something more permanent, JD.”

“Of course, we don't mind having you here as long as you want to come over and it's not a problem for him, but I know none of us thinks that separating the two of you was fair, and we'd like to help,” Mrs. Hunter went on. “If that means Mark staying over at your house or even... Well, you did mention that your father moves around a lot. We thought maybe if you didn't want to be separated from your brother, perhaps you could move in with us for a bit.”

“Really?” Veronica asked, reaching over for JD's hand. “That would be so great, wouldn't it?”

He tried to force a smile for her. There was no way in hell Bud would agree to that, and he knew it.

“We do have room,” Mr. Hunter added, and JD thought it was pretty obvious this was his wife's idea, not his. “Of course, Mark will have to give up part of his space, but I think he just might for you.”

Mark nodded. “We could rearrange things. Or you could just have my bedroom.”

JD almost laughed. He had a feeling he knew why that was. “You only say that because your couch is sh—crap.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Watching the two of you together is... truly something else. They never should have separated you,” Mrs. Hunter said. She shook her head, getting up with dishes like she didn't want them to see her crying, though JD could definitely hear it in her voice. 

JD had to wonder if he'd have half the tolerance for Mark that he did now if he'd been raised with him, though he supposed he'd probably be just as protective.

He forced himself to swallow. “Um, my dad is actually out of town now, but when he gets back, I'll ask him about it. About staying here, I mean.”

“Sounds good,” Mr. Hunter said. He rose, picking up his own plate. “And I bet you kids would like to be alone now, wouldn't you?”

Veronica flushed. “Well, I wouldn't mind a bit of time with JD before I head home.”

“Thank you again for dinner,” Nora said. “It was great.”

Mark said nothing, passing his dishes over to his parents and almost making a run for it.

* * *

The first part of the broadcast was routine. Mark put on _Everybody Knows._ He let the whole song play to gather himself together, not sure where to start. It was hard not to jump right to Heather's letter and get that over with, as much as it scared him to think about calling Richard Chandler.

“So I heard today that the school is still out for the blood of little old me,” Mark began, getting an approving smile from his brother. “It seems that Ms. Creswood is still determined to see the end of me, so determined, in fact, that she suspended everyone who spoke up for me at that meeting last night. How do I know this? Well, I still have my sources, not that it wasn't pretty damned public when they suspended two Heathers right after a clash with Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly. So we have a few bogus suspensions, and if people like Heather Duke and Heather McNamara aren't safe, who is? It does make one wonder, doesn't it?

“It also makes you wonder what else Creswood might be hiding, doesn't it?” Mark asked. “Students disappearing, others being suspended for no reason... A lot of shady things going on at Westerburg High these days.”

Mark took a breath, reaching for a cigarette and letting Johnny Hates Jazz' _Shattered Dreams_ play. He figured it might just annoy Chandler as well if she was alive, but it seemed a bit fitting. Shattered dreams for everyone—the kids suspended, the ones missing, Malcolm, and Heather.

He opened up one of the other letters, deciding it was safe to read it on air. “All right, folks. Time for a bit of the old mailbag. So here we go, bit of a short one here... _'Dear Harry. You're right. Westerburg sucks. I hope someone burns it down.'_ Simple, heartfelt. No name or address, though. I'm not particularly surprised, though.”

He shifted papers around the desk and picked up the other letter. “All right. Not much longer this time, but a more positive statement this time, if one that makes me think no one's going to believe I didn't send this to myself. _'Hope this message makes you really happy, Harry. You're the greatest. You're not afraid to say what needs to said, and you make them hear it, even if they don't want to. You see how messed up this world is, and you don't pretend it's okay. You give us a voice. We have you, and we have the world. You gave that to us. We owe you. Signed, Everyone.'_

“Well, everyone, I'm a bit flattered,” Mark began, not looking back but flipping JD off all the same and hearing the girls giggle. “And a few other things, but I don't actually deserve all this praise. I'm not the one to give you or anyone else anything. The world is yours to take, not mine to give. Remember that. Use what you have. Tell others even when they won't listen. Don't give up. I'm not the only one with a voice—you have yours. Use it.”

He put on another song, one from the Beastie Boys, _(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party.)_

Nora grinned at him from across the room, and Mark felt himself flush, turning away from her, not sure why he'd even looked in her direction. He didn't need to get flustered now. This was hard enough as it was.

He took out Heather's letter, setting it against the desk. It was almost time.

JD moved from the couch and over to the other chair he'd dragged into the room this afternoon. He gestured to the letter, and Mark almost told him to read it, but that was the coward's way, and he wouldn't do that.

“One more bit of mail. Now this one's long, and it wasn't alone. I definitely don't have a fan here,” Mark said. He read the entire letter out, trying not to choke on it, and was beyond relieved when he finished. He swallowed. “Okay, I'm reaching into this envelope and... Fuck, she wasn't kidding. I guess I thought... I mean... Heather Chandler would have gotten a great revenge, am I right? Putting this letter in the mail before her suicide, getting me to read it, and then... having it all be a joke. Perfect, right? Only I'm holding a photograph here that turns my stomach, and while I don't know Mr. Chandler personally, what he is doing in it is just plain wrong. So wrong.”

Mark looked at the phone. He knew what he had to do, but that wasn't his phone, and it was intimidating as hell.

“And while I'm very tempted to play _Lady in Red_ or _All She Wants to Do Is Dance,_ I think we need to make a little phone call,” JD said, hitting the speakerphone button and dialing the number for Richard Chandler's private line. “Here we go.”

The line rang three times before someone picked up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Chandler? Richard Chandler? Father of Heather Chandler?”

“Who the hell is this? If you're from some newspaper, it's been done, and we gave our statements. You're intruding on our privacy, and how the hell did you get this number, anyway?”

“Heather gave it to me,” JD said, and Mark swallowed, admiring how easily the lies seemed to come to him. “She passed me some pictures, too, and told me to ask you about them. I'm sure you know the ones I mean. You're with someone. Not your wife, though she's a blond. Too bad she's a girl who doesn't look more than twelve.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You know what I'm talking about,” JD insisted. “You might not have thought that Heather had proof this time, no pictures, but she got them. I'm betting they're yours, taken without the girl knowing, but you? You're the sick kind of pervert who drags them out and gets off on looking at them. On reliving that moment of glory, right? Because after all, they're only a virgin once, right?”

Mark gagged, backing away from the desk. He was glad JD was doing this and not him. He would never have managed to say that.

“Exactly what do you want?” Chandler asked. “What are we talking here?”

JD grinned, a sick sort of smile that Mark never wanted to see again. “So these pictures are yours, then? This is you in them.”

“You know it fucking is. Now tell me what the hell you want for them. You have a price in mind, don't you? Spit it out.”

“Is that what you think this is?” JD asked. “Is that what Heather did with the other pictures?”

Chandler snorted. “She caught me with one of her friends and told me I had to stop or she'd go to the police. She was an idiot. I was done with that one. And her other friends were all such whores they weren't worth it. Now name your fucking price.”

“You're willing to pay me to make these pictures disappear?”

“You know I am. I've done it before.”

“So she did give them to the police,” JD said. “Interesting. And yet you're still willing to pay me even though giving them to the cops would be pointless?”

“I'd pay them, but who knows? Maybe you'd find an honest one,” Chandler snapped. “Are we doing business or what?”

“If you satisfy my curiosity about a couple more things, I can give you a fair price.”

“Oh, fuck you. You're just playing games. You don't have any photos—”

“Did you kill your daughter, Mr. Chandler?” JD asked. “I mean, I have a good reason here why she might have ended up dead, and if that's true, why would I only ask you for money for a few photographs?”

Chandler swore. “You little shit. If I find out who you are, you're dead.”

“I'm sure,” JD said, and Mark stared at him, not sure where all this bravery came from. It was almost scary. “So you killed her, then. What did you do, poison her?”

“Just tell me your price.”

“Tell me how she died first.”

Mark thought Chandler wouldn't go for it, that he was onto what JD was doing and would refuse to incriminate himself further, but the man swore again, and it sounded like something broke on the other end of the line.

“Stupid bitch wouldn't shut up, so I made her shut up. I held a pillow over her mouth until she did,” Chandler snapped. “Now tell me what I have to pay you to keep you quiet.”

“Sorry, buddy. You couldn't afford me,” JD said, hanging up on him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emotional aftermath of the broadcast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to jump right to the next morning. I wanted to, and I was going to after the first scene, but then I said, "no, these characters have to react" and then the list of them reacting got longer, and this happened.
> 
> So the morning had to wait, I guess.

* * *

“I need a shower,” JD said, shuddering after he ended the call. Veronica knew he wasn't the only one. That had made her sick, and she hadn't said any of that. She hadn't done anything but sit there and listen in horror. “I really, really need a shower. Fuck, that's sick.”

She rose, taking his hand and tugging him up out of his chair. She led him back to the corner of the room, where Slushie's cage was. He knelt down and picked the hamster up out of it, holding onto it and closing his eyes. She sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around him.

Mark picked up the envelope from the desk. “These pictures are going to the police. I don't want them. I don't want money for them. I just... Heather, I wish you had been willing to do this before it cost you your life. We would never have been friends, but I would have made sure your message got out there. I would have done everything I could to stop him. And I will.

“This is for you, Heather.” He switched records, playing _The Lady in Red._

Nora went over to his side and wrapped her arms around him, holding on as he shuddered. Veronica could feel the tension that JD was holding in, but she thought Mark was actually crying. She lowered her own head next to JD's. She hadn't always liked Heather Chandler, but now her death seemed like a real tragedy, more than it had even when they started talking about murder. She'd still been relieved when Heather was gone, to a point, because she was such a bitch and she'd been hoping that her parents would back off about JD if Heather wasn't feeding them lies.

Only Heather had tried to stop her father, who was a monster, more of a monster than she was, and Veronica was actually mourning her now.

She had a feeling everyone would. Heather Chandler would be more popular in death than she ever was in life.

“I'm going to need to call Heather and see if she'll cover for me again,” Veronica whispered into JD's ear. They hadn't said much about anything when they dropped the others off and switched vehicles, so she hadn't asked before—she hadn't wanted it to seem like they were planning anything for the night, just spending the afternoon in ways the others didn't need to know about—but now she needed to ask. “I don't want to leave you tonight.”

“I wouldn't be alone.”

“I know,” Veronica said. Only Mark was reeling just as badly as JD was, if not worse, even if he hadn't forced the confession out of Chandler. “I still want to stay.”

“I still want you here,” JD admitted. “I just... don't want you in trouble so you can't come back again.”

“We'll figure things out even if I _do_ get grounded,” she promised him, reaching around to pet the hamster in his arms. “There's lunch and technically they don't know I'm suspended, so we can have all day that I should have been at school. And I wanted to talk to you about... maybe catching things up, you know? So you can finish and graduate with us like Mark's parents offered.”

He reached up to touch her cheek. “You're sweet, but it'll never happen. Maybe Mark's mom is strong enough to force it and make her husband less of a dick, but my dad's never going to go for it. Leaving me behind is like giving me something I wanted, and I don't think he's ever done that in my life. My mom was the only one who did, and she's gone.”

Veronica sighed. “We can do something about him, can't we? Of course we can. You just got a killer to confess on air. We'll stop your dad. We just need to make a plan.”

“Not now.”

She nodded. Right now, none of them were up to it, and it was hard to justify taking all that attention away from Heather. This was her moment, such as it was, and they had to give it to her.

Even if Mark's choice of song would probably have pissed her off anyway.

* * *

“They'll arrest him, won't they?” Betty asked, hugging a teddy bear close up against her chest. She felt sick and sad all at the same time, even if she barely knew Heather Chandler and didn't like her much. “They have to, don't they?”

Martha nodded. “They got him to confess on air, and I doubt I'm the only one who recorded the broadcast. Not that I knew it was coming, but I started doing it so I could have the music—and prove it's not as bad as anyone says it is if I had to.”

Betty buried her head in her bear. She should have done that. Her parents were going to be angry when they found out about her getting suspended. She hadn't told them. She'd been hoping Mark's father would reverse it right away so she wouldn't have to, but she hadn't heard anything yet.

She'd have to wait until tomorrow.

“I think we should take the tape over to the police ourselves if we haven't heard anything about them arresting him in the morning,” Martha said. “I'd even drive myself if I have to.”

“I'm sure that Veronica and the others will want to do that. We'll probably all end up going together.”

“I have to say, I'd prefer that,” Martha admitted. “I don't think they'd take it seriously if it only came from me. They never believe me. Not about the vandalism, not about anything.”

“They'll take you seriously when we all go,” Betty said. She was sure of that. She didn't want to say it was because of JD, but she was pretty sure it would be. The cops would have a hard time ignoring him if he tried to make a statement.

“I hated her,” Martha said. “I hated her even more when Veronica told me what she'd had her do, and I still hate her now. Even though Hard Harry spoke up for me, it didn't make it better. And what she did to stop her father... it doesn't erase all the other mean stuff, either.”

“No, it doesn't. It's not even like she ever apologized to us,” Betty said. “Not that she was ever as bad to me as she was to you, but she wasn't ever sorry for anything she did. At least Veronica... you can tell she felt bad about it.”

“And Heather McNamara seemed sorry, too,” Martha agreed. Betty had to nod. She thought the cheerleader was nice, nicer than she'd expected, though of all of the other girls, she trusted Martha and Nora the most.

She wanted to trust Veronica, but she couldn't, not completely. Not after learning about that letter Veronica had forged and humiliated Martha with. That was a bit hard to forgive, at least right away. They needed more time. It was a little too soon right now.

“Some good came of Heather's death, though,” Martha said. “Weird as it is... we're all together now, and I don't know that we would have been if she was still alive. I mean, we only went to see Veronica because you were worried about her, and even if Nora is friends with her now because she's dating her boyfriend's brother, that still doesn't mean things would have changed.”

Betty was afraid it wouldn't have, and that scared her a bit, because she didn't want to lose the friends they had now.

Well, maybe Duke, but Martha still liked her, so they'd have to put up with her, too.

And all because Heather Chandler was dead.

* * *

“I think I could cry for days,” McNamara said, and Heather forced a nod. She hadn't expected to feel that upset by Heather's death. She felt kind of numb, actually, and she wasn't sure that she would have agreed to cover for Veronica and her boyfriend if she hadn't been mostly out of it listening to a song that had now become a strange tribute to Heather Chandler.

Every time she heard that song now, it would probably make her cry.

Not that she didn't still hate her. She did. She hated almost everything to do with Heather Chandler, and she hated her father more, but she was sorrier now than she thought she'd ever be. Heather's death had seemed like such a relief.

Now it wasn't. Heather had been the only thing stopping her dad, and who knew if he'd done other things besides those pictures Harry mentioned?

“Those weren't the pictures we sent,” Heather said. “Not the letter Veronica forged. That was Heather. It was really Heather. She wrote that. She gave Harry the pictures.”

McNamara nodded. “Yeah. It was her.”

“Hard to believe,” Heather said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “And then... not so hard to believe after all. I mean, with as much as she tried to shut Hard Harry down and stop the rumors, she never did, so of course she'd think of him when she needed him. We did, didn't we?”

“Yeah.”

Heather sighed, going over to McNamara's side and pulling her into a hug. She supposed it made sense it was her turn to do this. Last time was McNamara's, earlier when she'd recognized Heather in that awful picture. It hadn't shown the worst of what Chandler did, but then it didn't need to, did it?

“I feel all... strange,” McNamara said. “Like... almost like maybe before it wasn't real, but now it's really real, and I hate that it's real. I know now that I wasn't... I didn't always like her. I hated her a lot of the time, and I was afraid to say so, ashamed to, but now... I don't know what to feel.”

“I don't think any of us do,” Heather admitted. “We just... we'll go on. It's what you do, isn't it? You just... breathe in and out and sleep and get up and go through life. I did it before, you did it before, and we just keep on doing it.”

“It'll get better, right?”

Heather nodded. “I think so. I mean, there won't be a Heather to boss everyone around anymore, but who needs her when we have JD, right? He's scary enough that no one will mess with him, and he's already leading us whether we want that or not.”

“So people will be nicer? Things will be better?” McNamara asked. “I'm so tired of my parents fighting about the divorce. I never want to go home anymore. And then school's worse sometimes, and not making cheer captain... they all laugh about me and how much I failed. Heather just told me to shut up when I tried to talk about it.”

“Heather's gone. You could tell anyone now, and they'll listen.”

“That's good,” McNamara whispered. “I wish I felt I could when Heather was alive.”

Heather didn't say anything. The truth was, they all should have felt like they could do what they needed to and be what they needed to—eat as much as they want or pick their own clothes or any of the things Chandler wouldn't let them do—but she'd been someone they all feared, so they hadn't.

“I'm still sorry she's gone.”

“Yeah, I am, too. A bit. Only a little, though.”

“You think she could have done that crap with Remington to try and spare us from her father?”

“I don't know. That might have been... too kind of her. And why would she do something when she didn't get anything else in return?”

“I don't know. Maybe there was some part of her that was good. She did write Harry, after all. She stopped her father. She died doing it.”

“Yeah,” Heather said. “She redeemed herself in the end. That doesn't mean she was a very good person before that.”

* * *

“You okay?” Nora asked, and Mark looked up at her. She knew that was a stupid question, but what else did she ask? He'd let _The Lady in Red_ play four times before turning off the broadcast without a word. JD hadn't managed to say anything, just squeezed Mark's shoulder before letting Veronica take him into the other room.

Mark had sworn he was fine when Veronica asked, but he did not look fine, and neither of them should have believed him. Not that Nora blamed them for wanting to be alone. They might be doing their best to forget. 

Nora wasn't sure how anyone could, not after that broadcast. She didn't know what to do with herself now. She should, technically, go home, and she knew it, but she had only an empty room and a long, sleepless night.

She didn't actually want to go home, and she kind of envied Veronica because she didn't have to. She didn't want to think about what she and JD were getting up to right now, either, but at least they had some kind of distraction. Mark could use one.

“It's weird. Thinking I don't have to go to school in the morning,” Nora said, even though she knew this was a lousy distraction. “Not that I go all that often, but I'm not sure what to do with myself anyway. I mean, I don't think that I have much doubts about what your brother and Veronica will get up to, might even be up to now—in which case, I think I understand why you don't want your bedroom back—but they shouldn't have left you alone.”

Mark shook his head. “I don't need JD to babysit me, and as nice as Veronica is, it's still somewhat awkward talking to her.”

“You've been better about the whole not talking thing,” Nora said. She held out a hand. “I don't suppose maybe you'd rather sit on the couch?”

“Um... JD is right about one thing,” Mark said. “That couch is pretty shitty.”

Nora laughed. She'd sat on it for most of the day and couldn't disagree. “Yeah, it is, but it at least sits two, and you know, if your brother does move in with you, you can always have it replaced with a better one.”

“Sure,” Mark said, and she had to frown at him.

“What is it?”

“JD's dad is never going to let him move in here, even if that's what he wants,” Mark said. He shook his head. “And my mom might be all for it, but my dad is not... not as thrilled. I'm not sure if he just doesn't trust JD or if he doesn't like him or what... I don't know. Mom fighting with him isn't a solution. It's not even a temporary fix. JD and I both know he's been brow beaten into it, not that he wanted to do it, and it makes it very awkward.”

Nora nodded. She could see that. “What would make JD's dad come around? Money?”

“No.”

“Oh, God. How did it take me this long?” Nora demanded. She was going to blame it on the murder sidetracking them, that and those pictures. Even now she didn't know that she wanted to see what Mark and JD had seen. Still, she should have put the other pieces together before now. “JD is the abused kid. The one you faked the letter for.”

Mark grimaced. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn't figure that out. It wasn't... it's not my story to tell. He wouldn't want you to know.”

“I can pretend I didn't know,” Nora offered. She didn't want to ruin things for Mark or JD. “And I know Veronica is going to want to do something about JD's dad, so tomorrow, after we take the photographs in to the police, I'll help if I can.”

Mark studied her. “I don't know how we can—I never thought that Chandler would confess over the phone like that. JD never said he was on the air, but it was still crazy that Chandler thought he could do that. What if JD had been recording the call?”

“Technically, I think a lot of people did,” Nora said. “I'm not the only one who tapes your shows. I have—had—them all. I didn't get the last few because I wasn't at home, but I have most of them. I bet there are hundreds of kids who have a copy of tonight's that will be at the station in the morning.”

“Oh, God,” Mark whispered. “That's insane. I can't. I can't go in now. If I try to turn in those photographs, they'll catch me. And while JD _did_ get a confession out of him, half of that conversation sounded like blackmail, and even if it didn't, there's broadcasting without a license and—”

“Calm down,” Nora said, putting a hand over his mouth. “It'll be okay. You don't have to panic. We'll find a way to get you in and out safely. We didn't come this far to ruin things by anyone getting arrested. In fact... why don't we just hire a courier service? They have those people who deliver mail to companies, so we'll hire them and send them in with the photos.”

He lifted her hand. “That is probably safer, though they'll ask about who hired them.”

“So we make it one of us that's not that noticeable and not that male?” Nora said. “Ooh, I know. Duke has brothers, doesn't she? We can pay them to take in the envelope.”

“And if they rat us out?”

“Good point. Let's pick a safer option,” Nora said. “Since I refuse to lose you for any reason.”

He looked up at her, and she swallowed, bending down to kiss him. This was wrong, seeing as Heather Chandler was dead and JD had exposed her killer—her own father—on air. Still, she had to admit, she kind of envied Veronica and JD their moments.

She broke off the kiss, biting her lip and hoping she hadn't made a big mistake. “Mark?”

“How big a coward am I if I don't want to be alone tonight?”

“No more than any of the rest of us,” she answered, since she didn't want to be, either. “Want to share a shitty couch with me for a while?”

He nodded, standing, and she took his hand to walk over with him, sitting down beside him. She let her shoulder rest against his, and when she tilted her head, his met hers.

She hoped no one was alone tonight.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning brings some surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I wasn't sure of any of this even as much as the end solution seems a bit kinder than others and I didn't really want a riot.
> 
> Also, this story is now over 100,000 words, and that was never supposed to happen, even if it was a crossover.
> 
> I really am incapable of writing short. *head desk*

* * *

“That,” Veronica said, leaning in the doorway, “is kind of adorable.”

“Hmm,” JD said, putting his arms around her waist. “I think you're kind of adorable. And tempting. Very tempting. I almost want to go back to bed, but as Mark's parents—his mom, most likely—will be down to tell us to eat, I think would be a bad idea.”

Veronica nodded. “Yes, it would be. Still... I am suspended, so I don't have class today, meaning we could always see about something like that after the Hunters leave.”

He rocked her in his arms. “I like the way you think.”

“I know you do. Have you seen a camera?”

JD smiled. He'd been thinking of that himself, though he wasn't sure if he was thinking blackmail or not when it came to the “cute” moment on the couch. Mark and Nora were going to hate themselves when they woke up, because sleeping like that could not be comfortable or good for their necks. They'd fallen asleep talking or something completely innocent like that, but it was still compromising enough, seeing as they weren't officially dating and his parents didn't know she'd spent the night.

“Boys?”

“Shit,” JD hissed. “Mark's mom. Go hide while I distract her. No, no, that way. Adorable or not, he's not leaving me alone with his parents. Wake him up while you're at it.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, going over to nudge Mark, who jumped a few inches and almost knocked Nora off the couch. The whole thing might have been funny if JD wasn't pretty sure he woke like that almost every morning.

“Sorry. You're on breakfast duty, Mark,” Veronica told him, and his eyes went wide. He stumbled away from the couch, and JD figured another lecture on breathing was in order on the way up the stairs. If falling asleep next to a girl was that upsetting, how was Mark ever going to get to the actual sex?

JD found himself grimacing at the thought. While he thought Mark would lose a lot of the tension and stress he seemed to be constantly under if he actually got laid, JD didn't actually want to think about that.

“Morning,” Mrs. Hunter called from the top of the stairs. “I hope you're okay with leftovers. I made too much yesterday.”

“It's fine,” JD said, though he couldn't remember ever having breakfast leftovers before. Leftovers for breakfast, yes, if he was lucky enough to find some, but breakfast leftovers? That never happened.

He heard a voice, but it wasn't Mr. Hunter's, and it took a bit before he could see the television was on, with a reporter doing live coverage. That suit was awful, but JD ignored it, focusing on what he was saying instead.

“—see behind me the chaos this morning,” the reporter said, though he didn't even look back. “Hundreds of teenagers have swarmed the building this morning, demanding to hand over their copies of a local pirate radio show. Not long ago, this show and its dj, Happy Harry Hard-on, were under fire for inciting suicide and destruction, but this morning, he is being hailed as a hero.”

“What?” Mark asked, staring at the television in disbelief. JD wanted to laugh, a bit, but it wasn't really funny somehow.

“Hours before the world would have laid Heather Chandler in her eternal rest—”

“Who the hell writes this shit?” JD muttered under his breath, getting a look from Mark's dad for that one.

“—a letter revealed that her death was not a suicide as police assumed. Nor was it any kind of accident. Heather Chandler was murdered to cover up an unspeakable crime. Her killer, someone close to her, was not only named in the letter she sent to the pirate dj but also documented in photographs he claimed to possess as well as a confession given to that same dj on the air. Some doubt the legitimacy of this call and the evidence, but this crowd here believes and is demanding not only that the police hear their recordings but that an immediate arrest be made.”

“That's insane,” JD said, looking at the crowd on the screen. “That's almost everyone from Westerburg, even the idiot jocks.”

“They did like Heather, I guess,” Mark said, though he didn't sound convinced.

“That girl... murdered...” Mrs. Hunter said, shaking her head. She looked at them. “Did either of you hear this broadcast?”

“We do know you listen to this show,” Mr. Hunter said. “There's no in denying that. Just tell us if you were listening last night.”

Mark nodded, swallowing. “Um... there was definitely a letter—”

“And pictures,” JD added, since they were still sitting on top of Mark's desk downstairs. They had to get them to the police soon.

“—And pictures from Heather Chandler,” Mark finished. “They... they're not telling you what she said in the letter because it's...”

“It's too fucked up for normal television,” JD said, ignoring the warning look he got. “Her father's one of those guys who preys on little kids. He tried it with her friends first, and then went a lot younger in the photographs. That girl was maybe twelve.”

“Twelve?” Mrs. Hunter repeated. She looked like she didn't know how to react, a bit queasy but also scared and furious all at the same time. “They'd better have arrested him. Did they say they had?”

“Not yet,” Mr. Hunter said. He studied Mark and JD, watching their reactions. “You two didn't say anything last night when this was on the air.”

Mark looked at his his feet. “What we were supposed to say?”

“I have to bet some people called the police last night. I mean, I didn't think of it, but others probably did. This morning I did, and I think Mark's friend Nora would have turned in her tape to the police—she's a fan—but last night it was just... None of us really thought Heather Chandler was the type to kill herself, but to hear that about her dad, to have pictures of it...”

“You have the pictures?”

JD bit back a swear, but Mark was able to answer. “You remember Heather Duke, from yesterday? She... she was one of the girls Heather Chandler's dad tried it on first. They were going through pictures Heather had of a party, and it... it sort of came up.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Hunter said. “That's one of your new friends, is it?”

“Duke's not a friend,” JD said. Mark grimaced, and JD corrected himself. “She's a friend of a friend. It was still messed up, though. That's not something I'd wish on anyone.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Hunter said, reaching over to touch his arm. “You're a good person, JD. I almost wish they'd cancel school today. I'm not sure why they did it before the actual funeral.”

“There won't be one now,” JD said. “They have to go over her body again because it's murder.”

“We're sure this kid isn't making this up for his show?”

Mark stared at his father. “Why would anyone do that? Harry wouldn't. I know you think he's just a troublemaker, but he wouldn't lie about something like that. He might have lied about other things, but murder? No.”

“Well, he doesn't seem to think much about the consequences of his actions,” Mr. Hunter said. “First the attempted suicide, now this. What happens if that crowd gets violent? This could turn into chaos so quickly, and someone will get hurt.”

JD wanted to punch him. Mark so did not need that kind of guilt. “All Harry did was honor Heather's dying wish. She asked him to read the letter out, and he did. He let everyone know what Heather's father did—and he got it confirmed. He is not responsible for a bunch of idiots getting out of hand. That's not on him. He didn't ask them to take the tapes in. He just... he had to do right by Heather, that's all.”

“He would stop it if he could,” Mark added, looking at the television screen. “That's not what he wants. He just... he wanted justice for Heather and that girl in the photographs and everyone else Mr. Chandler hurt.”

“Maybe just a little to stick it to Sherwood and Westerburg for pretending their shit doesn't stink and none of this crap goes on here,” JD added, giving Hunter a bit of a smirk for that one as he was still annoyed that the guy had said that stuff about Harry, even if he didn't know that Mark was Harry and didn't seem to realize Mark had a guilt complex a mile long. “And I think I've lost my appetite, so I'll skip breakfast.”

“Me, too,” Mark said, following JD back down the stairs.

* * *

“You're sure about this?”

Mark snorted, and Veronica almost regretted asking, but it wasn't like this was a simple or easy thing for any of them to do. They had to fix this, even if they hadn't meant for any of this to happen. She could still remember how it felt to stare at the television after JD turned it on, looking in disbelief and fear at the crowd on the screen getting larger and louder in front of the police department.

And then they'd turned over to the Chandler home, reporting that it had been broken into and ransacked as people hunted for Richard Chandler, who was rumored to be in police custody, but no one had confirmed that.

She wasn't sure if that was because the cops were afraid to go outside their own building or if they were trying to find a way to make it so Chandler went free, though it could just be they wanted to interview him in private.

Maybe they were waiting for the pictures.

“I know the speaker will work,” Mark said. “That part's sound, but whether or not they'll listen is something else all together.”

“I think they will,” Nora said. “You keep underestimating your influence—and I admit, it can be a bit scary, but come on. Those people are out there because they believe in you. And that's not just Westerburg. Those kids are from all over the place.”

“You're making it worse,” JD told her, and she grimaced. Veronica knew she was trying to help, but Mark really didn't seem comfortable with his status as a hero, and calling attention to it, even in trying to motivate him, upset him even more.

“Are you sure you don't want us to go out with radios? You could do this from home.”

Mark shook his head. “How would you explain knowing that Harry was on air? I've never broadcasted before ten pm before. I'm only doing this because I don't want anyone hurt. I'm just going to make a small speech, tell them that the pictures are there, and that's it. We're done.”

“I think it's all set, then,” JD said. “Do your thing. Unless you need me to do it.”

Mark shook his head. “I'll do it.”

Veronica gave him her best, most encouraging smile, though she wasn't sure if he saw it because Nora leaned in to kiss him.

“You're braver than you think,” she told him, touching his cheek, and he tried but didn't quite smile for her, still looking awkward.

He swallowed, turning on the mic. “So I turned on the news this morning...”

The crowd, some of them pushing and shoving each other, stopped, stilling in the parking lot, looking around for the source of the voice, probably assuming someone was playing a tape.

“And I found, to my surprise, that my little broadcast got heard by a lot of people. Yeah, I admit it. It still shocks me to find people actually listening. In this case, I want it to be a good thing, but as I was preparing to drop off the photographs Heather sent me, I saw this. I saw the crowds and the chaos. I knew someone was going to get hurt. That's not what any of us wants. We want justice for Heather, not more violence or more deaths. We want the truth, but the truth isn't going to come if we try and force it. We all heard an admission last night, and the police have the photographs. It's in their hands now. If they don't do something, that's the time to take action, to make demands and threaten riots. This... this isn't. None of us wants to wait, but we need to give the system a chance to work or we're as big of hypocrites as the parents, teachers, and society that doesn't understand us.”

Veronica liked this speech, but then Mark was pretty good at them. Not that JD was bad, either. He'd impressed her a lot last night. The two of them together was an insanely powerful combination.

“So, while I'm sure it's not what any of us wants to do, but go home. Go to school. Go to work. Go wherever you need to be. A park. A museum. Anywhere. Just... leave here in peace before things go too far. Maybe Heather would have wanted that—we all know she wasn't perfect and she wasn't always kind—but we all deserve better than to get hurt or worse in a riot there's no need to have.”

He covered the microphone, watching the crowd for a moment. Veronica didn't like what she was seeing. No one was moving. 

“I'm not so sure they're going to do it.”

“It just takes one,” Nora said. “One person can start it. If they walk away, then it'll—oh, Paige. I take back everything mean I ever said about you. You are the best.”

Veronica had to smile herself, watching Paige cut through the crowd, looking far from perfect with her broken nose and unkempt clothes, but she made her way to the edge of the group and yell back at them. Slowly, more of them began to separate and leave the group, walking out of the parking lot.

“Thank you,” Mark said into the microphone. “Thank you, all of you.”

* * *

“I'd like to speak to a detective, please.”

“Look, if you're a reporter here about that damned Chandler business, you can get your ass out the door. Only thing those kids were good for was keeping you parasites away, but now that they're gone, I'm stuck with you. Lucky me. Guess I'll haul your ass to the door myself.”

Brian forced a tight, polite smile. “I'm not a reporter. I'm a school commissioner, and I am not here about the Chandler matter, though I suppose the case is related since I came to speak to someone about Hard Harry, the pirate dj.”

“Oh,” the uniformed officer said, swallowing. “Um... you want Detective Rhodes over there.”

“Thank you,” Brian told him, walking over to the other desk where the man was typing in frustration, practically pounding on the keys while others watched him with amusement. “Detective Rhodes?”

The man with the salt and pepper hair looked up and frowned. “How did you get past the desk? We're not doing interviews.”

Brian looked down at his sweater and frowned. He'd have to ask Marla if she thought he looked like a reporter. He didn't feel like one, and Mark would probably laugh at the question. So would his brother, for that matter.

He forced himself not to get sidetracked now. That mess was still unsettled, as much as Marla seemed to think they could just pull JD into their home and fix everything that way. Brian was less sure of that, as much as he knew that trying to separate the two of them now would go very badly.

“I'm Brian Hunter, school commissioner. I wanted to talk to you about Hard Harry.”

Rhodes sighed, reaching into his desk for a pink bottle and taking a straight shot of the bismuth before nodding. “Figures. Look, we're doing what we can. We don't have the equipment to trace the signal, and while I've been tempted to call the FCC in—”

“That would be a mistake,” Brian said, and the other man frowned at him. He swallowed and told himself he was doing the right thing here. “Did you hear last night's broadcast?”

“Yes, and while some people said he was distributing pornography on air, that's not what that was. He also never asked for money from the guy, so he's not guilty of blackmail.”

“That's the point I was going to make,” Brian said. “Right now, he's a hero. Not just to the students. I've heard it from multiple people in my office today. We all accepted her death was a suicide, and we were wrong. He not only showed us that, but he found the killer for you and got a confession.”

“Lawyers might do a thing or two with that,” Rhodes said. “I don't want to know. That's not my part. I'm not even really on that case.”

Someone else snorted, and Brian got the feeling that Rhodes was handling both cases. Sherwood wasn't that big of a town, so almost all of the detectives would be involved in something as big as a murder.

“I have a feeling if you pursue criminal charges against Hard Harry, you'll have another riot on your hands,” Brian told him. “I don't know how or why he came out to call it off today, but he did. And because he did, he's even more of a hero. He's got the kind of power people dream of having when it comes to these kids.”

“Yeah, and he almost got a kid killed.”

“I know. He shouldn't have been the one to talk to Malcolm Kaiser, but there's still a chance he'll live through that,” Brian said. He hoped the kid did, but if he did, it would mean even less ground for anyone but very bitter parents and teachers to stand on. That was a problem, and he could see it now. He didn't want it getting worse, like it could have at that meeting. “You have someone that's being seen as a hero. You arrest him, and guess what?”

“We're the bad guys.”

“Yes,” Brian said. “I have a suggestion I hope he'll agree to that should appease most parties involved, though it won't please everyone. Still, I think it's the best solution possible. If we can convince him to work with us, take over the school radio program, even create a new one for him, then we can regulate his content, taking out the parts that upset the parents, and he'd no longer be violating any laws because he'd have a license to broadcast.”

“So you think we should just... stop looking for this guy?”

“Oh, no, we still need to find him if we're going to make him this offer,” Brian said, “but if you do arrest him and press charges... it would not only earn you the ire of a lot of disenchanted teenagers but also jeopardize your case against Chandler. If your source is a criminal...”

Rhodes reached for the pink bottle again. “I see your point, but I'm not the one you have to convince.”

Brian nodded. He knew he had many more meetings in front of him, and the others would not be half as pleasant as this one was.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little complicated after the near riot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had kind of meant to do part of this sooner. I'd had no way to fit it in, though, or so I thought. Then I was all frustrated with how it seemed like it was just repeating stuff already covered, and I had a hard time trying to fix it.
> 
> And the one main problem that doesn't have a solution yet is still not allowing itself a resolution, which is very irritating.

* * *

“There you are,” Duke said, leading the others up to the station wagon. “I would have thought you'd be here a lot earlier.”

“We had things to do,” JD told her, wrapping his arm around Veronica in a possessive way, and Duke gave a disgusted sigh, muttering about the two of them needing cold showers. Heather thought it was funny, but at the same time, she didn't see how any of them could have been late to something like this when it was so important.

Heather Chandler's father couldn't go free, and while Martha had wanted to share her tape and Betty thought it was a good idea, they hadn't been close enough to do anything. Duke wasn't willing to talk about what Chandler's dad did to her, but maybe she needed to, to prove that this guy was what the letter said and that his confession last night was real.

Maybe if Harry suggested it, she'd do it, because everyone seemed to be doing what he said lately.

“I brought my tape for them. I was afraid if I got close no one would listen to me,” Martha said. “I didn't expect everyone else to be here, wanting to do the same thing.”

“It was kind of impressive,” Nora said. “Speaking of... Yo, Paige! Over here.”

“You're not serious,” Duke said, her eyes wide as she shook her head. “Oh, no. It's one thing to have this... group that's formed with us, but we're all stuck with each other for a reason. Most of it is Veronica's fault, actually, since she dragged her boyfriend into this and then his brother and his girlfriend and she's the reason Betty's here, so I think it's safe to consider this mostly her doing, but adding Paige Woodward to this? Miss Perfect?”

“We all know she's not perfect,” Heather said, shaking her head at Duke. “She was still really amazing earlier, getting everyone to leave like she did.”

Duke shook her head. “That doesn't mean she's one of us.”

“What exactly qualifies us as 'one of us?'” Veronica asked, sounding amused. “Come on, Heather. We owe Paige. Everyone does. If this had turned into a riot, we could have been mourning more than Heather Chandler or maybe her father would have gotten away with it because they'd think that Harry was pulling some stunt for publicity or something.”

“Why would anyone think that?” Betty asked. “No one would make that up, would they?”

Mark snorted. “My dad thought it was possible Harry did, and he's a former hippie, believes the best in everyone.”

“Except me,” JD muttered, and Mark shrugged.

“That's different. He knows you.”

“That's not it at all,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes. “It's because JD's not the well-behaved son he knows but looks a lot like him and because JD understands you better in less than a week than your dad did in seventeen years, Mark.”

Mark started to say something, but Paige reached them, and he stopped, swallowing and looking down at his feet again.

“Hey,” Nora said, stepping forward to greet Paige again. “We saw what you did, getting everyone to go. That was really something.”

Paige shrugged. “I didn't do it. Harry said it. I just listened.”

Duke snorted. “No, you had to choose to move, and then you yelled until you got even idiots like Kurt and Ram to leave when no one wanted to. It wasn't just Harry. He didn't even show his face, did he?”

“If the whole point of coming was to avoid a riot, why would he?” Paige asked. “Lots of people want to know who he is. They might have trampled over each other to see it. He didn't want that. So he didn't show his face. Personally, I don't think he ever should.”

Heather frowned. She thought it might be nice to know who Harry was, since he was smart and a hero, helping them prove Heather's murder like he had and stopping a riot. “Why not? Aren't you curious?”

“Of course I am. We all are. But as long as he's a voice on the radio, he can be anyone, and none of the popularity bullshit matters,” Paige answered, getting a bit red and stumbling over the cuss word like she'd never used one before. “If they know, though, there goes all the good he's done because they'd label him a loser or a freak. He'd go from amazing to ordinary, less than that, even. They'd see him as something worse than the geeks they mistreat and bully. He'd be someone who wanted to be more and failed, and isn't that the worst sort of crime in our high school world?”

“Seems like it,” Veronica said, and Heather winced, since Chandler had certainly made her feel like it was when she'd refused that Remington party over JD. Veronica took JD's hand and squeezed it tight. “But it isn't.”

He gave her a smile in return, and Duke made a sound of disgust, which of course had them go ahead with it, kissing in a way that really wasn't meant for an audience. Chandler wouldn't have needed photos of her, that was for sure. Heather thought Duke should know better by now, but she'd practically invited them to do it.

“Ignore them,” Nora advised Paige. “Half the reason they do it is for the reaction it gets. Especially from Duke and Mark.”

Paige looked at Mark and back at JD, who had finally come up for air. “How did the whole school miss twins?”

“It's a long story,” JD said. “And not one I'm in the mood to tell again.”

“We all know what you're in the mood for,” Duke grumbled. “And it's not anything we want to see, either.”

“Just like I'm sure no one wants to know what really gets your panties in a twist, Duke,” JD told her with a smirk. He didn't do anything to make his words kinder, just stood there glaring at her while holding onto Veronica.

“Also ignore them,” Nora said. “They can't seem to resist a chance to snipe at each other.”

“We should probably go,” Martha said. “Most of the crowd is gone, but they might see us as a reason to come back or the police will think we're starting it up and we'll end up arrested.”

“I'm just glad that the police know it's a murder now, too,” Betty said, looking back at the building. “I was afraid there'd be no way to tell them.”

Paige frowned. “You knew Heather was murdered?”

“Suspected,” JD corrected. “And that's also a long story. One we shouldn't tell here.”

“I don't think I want to—”

“Fuck,” Mark said, backing up and bumping his brother as he did. “That's my dad.”

“What? Why is he here?”

“I don't know, but I know what we have to do,” Mark said. “We need to go. Now.”

“Mark, you're panicking again,” Veronica began, frowning. “It's probably not what you think it is.”

“It doesn't matter _what_ it is,” Mark insisted. “He can't see any of us here, not if you want your suspensions revoked. I also don't want to be grounded for the rest of my life.”

“Mark's right,” JD said. “We should go.”

* * *

Paige followed the others toward a big van parked well away from the police department. It looked familiar, a little, and she thought she might have gone on some of those camping trips before her father decided it was too unladylike and made her sit at home like a bookworm Barbie instead.

No one stopped her. She wasn't sure what that meant, if they wanted her there or were too scared to tell her to leave. She'd noticed half the people she met couldn't look at her face these days. So much for perfection, for beauty.

“What do we do now?” Betty Finn asked, climbing up into the back. Martha did the same, sitting down next to her in the far back of the van. The Heathers took the next row up, leaving the row behind the driver open.

The twin in the trench coat sat down on the running board, pulling Veronica into his arms. She smiled at him, leaning her head against his chest.

“I think I'd like some explanations,” Paige said. She also wanted something for her throbbing face, but her father thought she needed to be locked up and wouldn't let her have her pain pills because she might do something else crazy. “Um... please.”

“We shouldn't tell you anything,” Duke said, and Paige tried not to react to that. She'd never liked that girl, but she'd been so focused on being perfect she'd stayed polite and never let it show.

“It's not up to you,” the twin with the darker hair told her, giving her another mean smirk. Paige liked him a bit, but then she was starting to think she had a thing for bad boys herself, what with her new friendship with Mazz Mazzilli. She never would have thought she'd have anything in common with him before, found him creepy when he'd call out to her at school, but now she thought there might be something more to him than ripped jeans and a biker vest.

“And we could always drop you off at home if you'd prefer,” Veronica said, looking at the other girl. “Is that what you want, Heather?”

“What would I do there? Be bored out of my skull?”

Paige wondered if it really was always like this with them, though that was a strange thing to say because not that long ago, neither Heather would have acknowledged being in the same room as Betty Finn or Martha Dunnstock. Even Veronica had been on their shit list for some reason.

“Well, you don't seem to be here for the company.”

“The company would be just fine if not for you and your hideous trench coat.”

“Enough,” the other twin said, warning off his brother before he could say anything to make it worse. “I know it amuses you, but we don't need this right now.”

The other boy nodded. “Fine. Who wants to do the explaining—and not you, Duke. We need someone a bit less... bitter.”

She flipped him off. The twin with the lighter hair sighed.

“We all sort of ended up at Veronica's house for one reason or another after Heather Chandler died,” Nora said. “Betty and Veronica were friends before, so she and Martha were there to check on her, and the Heathers were there to grieve. I... I had my own reasons for being there, and then the boys showed up. JD being Veronica's boyfriend, he kind of had to be, and I assume he dragged his brother into this mess.”

“I didn't force him to come,” JD said. “Mark made his own choice.”

“Don't,” Mark said before Duke could make a comment about that.

“We were all trying to figure out how to deal with Heather's death,” Veronica said. “And in discussing it, we all kind of discussed how we didn't believe Heather had actually killed herself, even if that letter from the frat boy was probably about her and the Remington parties.”

Paige grimaced. “Now I'm really glad my father wouldn't let me go to any of them, not that I wanted to, I didn't like Heather and knew she didn't have any good reason for asking me to go, but he still wouldn't allow it. He never let me do anything but study.”

“Even my parents will tell you there's more to life than college, and my dad's the school commissioner,” Mark muttered, shaking his head. Then he sighed. “Though he does expect it of me anyway.”

“You're a gifted writer,” Nora said. “You might not really need it if you can get published, but you're smart enough for it.”

He winced. “I don't know why Emerson had to read those things out to the class.”

“I don't think we know how to stay on subject,” McNamara said, smiling with amusement. “Sorry about that. Guess it's just how big this group is.”

“And the murder twins and their girlfriends getting all lovey-dovey in front of everyone doesn't help, either,” Duke added, getting another finger from JD as well as one from Nora and Veronica.

“Murder twins?”

“She's only calling them that because JD took the lead in helping us find out what happened to Heather Chandler,” Martha said. “That, and they are twins.”

“And we were both adopted by different families and only found out about each other by accident last week,” JD said. “That's the short version. I'm not telling the long one.”

“It's not really that big of a deal once you know them,” McNamara said. “They're easy enough to tell apart. JD's the scary one, and Mark's the sweetheart.”

JD rolled his eyes. “Oh, if you only knew.”

“I'm not...” Mark grimaced. “Why is it these meetings always end up embarrassing me?”

“Because you're too shy for your own good,” Veronica told him with a faint smile. “At least, you start out that way. Once you relax, things get better.”

Nora took his hand, and he managed a small smile for her. Paige thought that did seem rather sweet, and there might be other reasons why he was the sweetheart. His brother seemed like more of a lech, though Veronica didn't seem to mind at all.

“Anyway, we figured we wanted answers to Heather's death—some of us more than others,” Nora looked at Heather Duke, “and we went looking for them. We didn't find the proof Heather sent to Harry, but we did find other photos of her father with girls our age, so we kind of figured maybe he was the one, but we couldn't prove it. Harry did.”

“Did you give those photos to the police?” Paige asked, not sure if she wanted to see them or not.

“Here's the funny thing,” JD said. “We figured we couldn't do anything with them or get them to believe us, so we mailed them to Hard Harry pretending to be Heather. Same day we did, he read a letter from her on air. Not the one we sent. We didn't have those pictures, just ones with older girls. So, I guess we wait for Harry to pass them along, too.”

“I figure some of the crowd was actually there to see Harry do it,” Duke said. “He told all of us he was turning in the pictures, but we never saw anyone our age go in there.”

Paige shook her head. “I don't think he would have gone himself. He's too smart for that. They want to arrest him because of Malcolm... and me. He'd be turning himself in if he tried to do it.”

“If he was smart, he hired a courier service,” Nora said. “They probably delivered the photos in front of everyone without anyone realizing it.”

“He said in his message that the police had the photos,” Martha said. “He was probably watching for the courier when he gave his speech to get people to leave.”

Paige could see that, though she thought he'd come to stop the crowd.

“Oh, god,” Veronica said. “I almost forgot about the house.”

“What?”

“They trashed the Chandler house trying to find him to get him arrested,” Veronica said. “It was on the news. If Heather's mom was there, she's probably a mess right now.”

“Unless the reason she was so drugged up was that she knew what her husband was and didn't want to deal with it,” Duke muttered, shaking her head. “I'm not sure I feel sorry for her, either.”

“I suppose we could go check on her, but she's probably not at the house, and the police will want to talk to us if they're still there,” JD said. “Anyone know where she might have gone?”

Paige watched the other girls shake their heads.

“I don't think we should go by their house, as much as we have a good reason to,” Mark said. “We'll just get in trouble—some of us aren't suspended and should be in school, and the police might think we're there for Chandler like the others were.”

Veronica sighed. “I guess we can't do anything for her, but if she didn't know, she didn't deserve this, and she's probably terrified.”

“I say she knew,” Duke said, “and I'm not wasting another moment's thoughts on her.”

Betty leaned forward with a little frown. “Is there any way to find out if she knew?”

“Not likely we can find her to call her,” JD said. “We may have to settle for knowing we did all we could to get Chandler behind bars.”

“Fine,” Duke said. “Let's go get some food or something.”

* * *

“Go ahead and get us a table,” JD said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his cigarettes. “We'll be along in a minute.”

“There's a smoking section, you know,” Duke said, jerking her head toward the inside of the diner. “Just do it in there.”

Mark reached for his own cigarette. “For one thing, there's only the four of us here that smoke, and for the other... we're underage, and you know they won't seat us there.”

“Play nice without us for a few minutes,” Veronica said, taking one of JD's. “We won't be long.”

Duke rolled her eyes, but she took charge, leading the others into the diner. Paige gave them all a long look, as though she didn't quite believe what she was seeing, and Nora had to wonder if it was the twin thing tripping up Miss Perfect again.

Damn it, she'd said she was going to be nicer to Paige. She wasn't being nicer.

“There are way too many people around us right now,” JD muttered, lighting up and walking around the side of the building. They all followed him. Nora mostly went for Mark, though she didn't dislike JD or anything. He just... wasn't the boy who confused her, the one she was attracted to when he was shier than seemed possible _and_ when he was larger than life.

“I'm not sure we're doing a very good job at keeping this from anyone,” Mark said, leaning against the wall and letting out a breath. “Dad was really suspicious this morning—I think we should have said something last night even if I couldn't... didn't know how... not after that letter... Those pictures...”

“Yeah, I wasn't much better,” JD agreed. “I didn't even think about what we'd do if they asked us about it.”

“And I'm not sure they believed that we were late to the riot because of sex, either,” Veronica said. “We should have come up with a better reason for that, too.”

“I'd suggest lying to say you had to pick me up on the way, but if they tried to call me or anything before they left they'd know I didn't make it home last night,” Nora said, reaching up to rub her neck. “I think even if your dad won't let you move in, JD, you should tell Mark's parents you are and get them to spring for a new couch.”

JD laughed. “Yeah, sure. I really think Mark's dad will want to do that for me.”

“Maybe not for you, but for him,” Veronica said. “Mark's parents do care about him, even if they're not always good at showing it or knowing how to help.”

Nora eyed JD and decided to say it anyway, even if she shouldn't. “We are going to do something about your dad now, right? We dealt with Heather's killer. We can do something about your abuser, right? And don't get all pissed at Mark. I figured it out on my own. He never said anything more than that your dad would never agree to letting you stay.”

JD looked over at Mark. “I'm not so sure I like how smart she is.”

“You're dating me and I'm a genius, remember?” Veronica teased, and JD smiled at her for a moment, touching her cheek. Nora figured on another kiss that didn't need an audience, and she almost smiled herself. She kind of envied that, being so sure of where you stood with someone you'd just about go at it in front of perfect strangers.

Then JD shook his head and backed off, looking away. “I don't know what to do about my dad. He's pulled shit before and gotten away with it, and there's no way he'd fall for Harry calling him up, even if I was willing to risk trying to pull that off twice. Bud's always been careful about how he does it. Not at the very beginning, but after the first time someone tried to do something about it, yeah. He doesn't hit me where it shows, and even though I know not everything he's done with his business is legal, he gets away with it.”

“We were just going to work on getting JD emancipated, if possible, but things have changed with Mark and his parents to think about,” Veronica said. “It would seem perfect, them taking him in, except JD's sure that Bud won't let that happen.”

“You could probably forge something from Bud to make it look like it was legal and binding,” Nora said, and JD looked over at Veronica, almost excited by the idea.

“That's actually brilliant,” Mark said. “Except... my parents won't go for it without talking to Bud directly, and as long as he's in town, there's a risk he'll run into them or they'll find him to ask about it and undo the whole thing.”

“Though... telling them there's a situation with your dad is an option,” Veronica said. “Not that we can prove it, but Mark's parents are too good of people to leave you with Bud.”

“It would also solve the problem of you two acting a little suspicious,” Nora said. “We just tell the others we're worried about your dad.”

“Like I want everyone and their brother knowing that my dad knocked me around.”

“It's better than some alternatives,” Mark said, “though I'm not asking you to do that to keep my secret, as much as the idea of the apparently die hard fans I have knowing who I am terrifies me.”

JD laughed. “That's the price of fame, little brother.”

“We are the same height, and we have no way of knowing which one of us was born first.”

“I was.”

“The firstborn's usually the troublemaker,” Nora said, getting a bit of a wounded look from Mark, which made her feel a bit guilty as much as she enjoyed this. “It's not always true, but it could be.”

“I think it's probably something the two of you will argue over for the rest of your lives,” Veronica told them, smiling. She finished her cigarette and dropped it to the sidewalk, snuffing it out. “I want to get something to drink, at least, so I'm going to head in. We can keep thinking about plans, but we're just going to make them more suspicious if we stay out here much longer.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Nora agreed, finishing her own cigarette.

“I still need a minute,” JD said, lighting up again. “You go ahead.”

Mark didn't move, and Nora wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or scream in frustration as she forced herself to go inside.

* * *

“Please tell me you're not thinking of anything violent.”

JD looked over at Mark. “I'm tempted to get violent with you for asking me about that.”

“Yeah, well, for all that you're 'scary,' no one here but me has seen you shoot something, and that actually was frightening,” Mark told him. “It could have been a lot worse, and not just for those idiots. I... I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“I'm fine. We're both fine. And the gun is actually not here,” JD said, getting a frown out of his brother. He shrugged. “Veronica's kind of... handsy. I can't carry it with me around her, and we haven't needed it, so... while it's not rotting in a lake somewhere, it's not here.”

Mark nodded. “I guess I'm glad.”

“You guess?”

“I don't know. I've been feeling like something's bound to go wrong all morning, and I know it's paranoid, and things did go wrong, but maybe... calling off the riot was too easy.”

“You have issues,” JD told him, though he wasn't really at ease, either. All this talk of his father had him expecting to see Bud jump out of the shadows around the corner or something. “Not that I don't. I've got plenty.”

“Is there any way your father might change his mind about letting you go?”

“Hmm. Maybe when I'm dead. Yeah, that seems about right.”

“It almost seems like faking your death would be a good idea.”

JD laughed. “It would be tempting, I guess, but how would I pull it off? Besides, he'd probably do something to make sure I was. He's weird like that. He hates me, but he also won't let me go.”

Mark nodded. He leaned back against the wall again. “Maybe if we did risk going back to his house, we could find some of those crooked business deals and expose them somehow.”

“Hard Harry the social avenger.”

“Shut up.”

“You know that you're a big hero now. Not just a radio personality, but a genuine, bonafide—”

“I swear, JD, I am going to hit you.”

JD laughed, tempted to take that teasing further, but it wasn't really the time or the place for it. If Veronica and Nora told the others about his dad, they did. He had wanted another cigarette to spare himself that conversation. He didn't want pity. He didn't want stares. He didn't want questions.

He didn't know what the hell he wanted.

“I think I need to buy another pack,” JD muttered, and Mark gave him a look, like he knew exactly what JD was doing, but it was fine. The girls didn't need him in there, and he didn't have an appetite. He would rather use his excuse and stay away until the food and gossip was done.

He looked around, trying to decide where to go to get a pack.

“You know, I bet they have a machine inside.”

“That's not the point.”

“I know,” Mark said, voice quiet. “You can't avoid them forever, though.”

“Maybe not, but it's my dad. My problem. I don't want them involved.”

Mark nodded. “Fine. We won't involve the others. We'll go now.”

“Go and do what, exactly?”

“Get the proof we need, one way or another.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go looking into Bud Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought of other ways of doing this, and I somewhat regret not doing them because this chapter was nearly impossible to get written. I knew what I wanted to do, but this weekend was a bit rough, and it was hard to be inspired even though I tried. The upside to this way is that people aren't as stupid or prone to random coincidence as they might have been otherwise.

* * *

“They're not going to like this,” Mark said after JD had stopped the motorcycle. Their first step had been to go back to his house for it, since it wasn't right to take the van from the girls and Veronica had kept the keys to the station wagon with her.

Mark was starting to hope that his parents would buy more than just a couch if JD got to live with them. He knew it was a lot to ask, but he had to hope they'd spring for a car, too. He should find a job, too, like JD had and start saving his own money for one, though he wasn't sure he could keep doing a radio show if he was working a part time job, too.

And that assumed his parents would agree to that, which was also debatable.

“You mean the girls? Yeah, they'll be pissed,” JD agreed. “Which you knew before we did this, since we left them behind.”

“I know,” Mark said. He figured they already knew they'd been ditched and were angry about it by now, and they might have gone right to his house to find them. They were just fortunate it probably took the girls a while to get out of the restaurant or they would have gotten there first. “Why did we stop here?”

“Because my father could be there, and I don't want him to hear the motorcycle if he is,” JD said. “We're not going anywhere near the place if he's here.”

Mark nodded. He figured that was kind of understood between them, since neither one of them wanted to get beaten by his dad. He didn't blame JD for being cautious, not after what he'd seen of the house when they went for JD's birth certificate.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“That's Bud's car.”

“Your dad has racing stripes on his car?”

“It's a Monte Carlo,” JD said, and Mark looked at him, not sure why he was defending Bud's ridiculous choice, since he figured they both thought the thing was hideous as hell. “They drive them at NASCAR.”

“Did he beat that response into you?” Mark asked, and JD glared at him, though Mark thought it was a fair question. It didn't sound like something JD would say on his own. “So what do we do now? Because we can't go in there, and I don't think waiting around here is an option, seeing as we don't have anywhere to watch from where he won't see us first.”

“No, we can't stay here,” JD agreed, though he didn't seem to be coming up with any alternatives. Mark had the unpleasant feeling he'd dragged up something really bad asking about the car and it was still rattling his brother.

“Does he have an on-site office?” Mark asked. “If he's here, he won't be there, and there might be something there we can use.”

JD nodded. “He does, sometimes. Depends on the project.”

“Only you don't know where he's working this time.”

JD shook his head. “No. I think this one was a hotel, but unless he's bragging or bitching about something or forcing me to watch the tapes of the explosions, he doesn't tell me much about the jobs.”

Mark grimaced. “Okay, so... we either ride around town looking for it or concede defeat now and go back to the girls—”

“Who will be pissed we got nowhere and never let us out of their sight to do this again, and I won't let him know about Veronica. He can't know about her. Ever. He'll hurt her because I care about her.”

Mark frowned. He didn't know that Bud could afford to take that kind of a risk, not when he seemed so careful about the rest of what he did to JD, making it so no one believed him.

“You're different,” JD told him. “There's almost no way I could keep him from knowing about you if he doesn't already. You and I look too much alike.”

“What do you mean if he doesn't already?”

JD grimaced. “I was thinking about it after we watched the news today. There were cameras at the parent teacher meeting, too, weren't there?”

“I don't really remember, but I wasn't looking for any. It would make sense they were there.”

“And your dad being school commissioner, he could have made it on television that night going in with you and your mom.”

“Maybe, but if your dad saw that, why wouldn't he have come for either of us sooner?”

“I don't know. I'm just... I'm being paranoid and stupid,” JD muttered, taking a cigarette out and lighting it. “I don't know why he's home, either. He shouldn't be home. It's not a good sign. Him not working when he's got a job... It's bad.”

“Then we really shouldn't be here,” Mark said. “You know how to break into a car?”

JD looked at him. “Why does everyone assume the worst of me?”

“I'm not. I just... we could use my voice distorter to call your dad's office and get information on the job site. Only I've never been able to open a car without the keys, so if you can, we can do that, but if you can't, we'll have to figure something else out. I'm pretty sure we shouldn't call as either of ourselves, though. Our voices are... too similar, and someone working for your dad might recognize it.”

JD grimaced. “You're just as paranoid as I am.”

“That's probably a good thing, considering what we're up against.”

* * *

“Wow. Your boyfriend ditched us,” Duke said, looking around at the parking lot. “I knew he was a jerk, but I didn't think he'd abandon you, at least, Veronica. Guess I should have known. Boys are all the same.”

“No, they're not,” Veronica said, shaking her head because as much as this irritated her, she had a feeling it was done out of some misguided sense of protecting her.

“Oh, they're still idiotic boys,” Nora said, “just... probably a bit too noble for either one of them's good at this point.”

“What are you talking about?” Duke asked. “Nothing about this is noble. They left us behind to go be stupid boys. Unless you're going to claim either of them went to school, which I so don't believe.”

Veronica sighed. She'd done her best to hold onto JD's secret, but she couldn't keep doing it. It was one thing to go in without the boys and say they wanted a few minutes more alone without explaining anything and somehow manage not to say that Mark was Hard Harry or that JD's father was abusive. She knew her boyfriend didn't want to share, and his secret should be the worst of the two of them, but somehow it felt like it wasn't, like it was the better one to tell.

That was fucked up, and she knew it, but then again... it wasn't like this was JD's doing or that he deserved what his father did or anything. That was all his dad's doing, and it was messed up that JD took blame for it and was ashamed of something that he had no control over.

She met Nora's eyes, and the other girl grimaced.

“JD's dad... he's not like the Hunters,” Nora said. She swallowed, shaking her head at herself. “Nothing like them, from what I've heard. Mark's dad is nice, just... doesn't get him. Like any parent. JD's dad, though...”

Duke gagged, the first to react or speak. “Do not tell me we have another Richard Chandler on our hands here.”

Nora winced. “No. I mean... All I know is that JD could have been the kid who wrote in about his abusive father. About being beaten. Mark wasn't willing to tell me more than that, though they're both afraid of his dad.”

“With good reason,” McNamara said. “They look alike, so what's to stop this guy from hurting Mark like he has JD?”

“Nothing,” Paige said for the others who had yet to find their voices.

“So the two brilliant boys decided to go find this guy on their own?” Duke demanded. “How stupid are they?”

Veronica sighed. “They're not that stupid. I don't think they'd just go... hand themselves over to Bud thinking another beating would be proof enough or that they could be witnesses for what he did to the other or that having two of them would confuse him enough. JD and I were trying to work on him getting emancipated, but that changed when he found Mark.”

“The Hunters want to take JD in,” Nora said. “He'd have a good place with them, already practically lives there.”

“Only Bud Dean won't let that happen,” Veronica said. “And if the Hunters try to make friendly arrangements with him... none of us wants to know what will happen to them.”

“You don't actually think this guy would kill them, do you?” Betty asked, frowning. Martha didn't seem convinced, either.

“Bud Dean blows up buildings for a living. It makes sense to be a little scared of him,” Paige said, getting everyone to look at her. “What? Am I the only one who's seen those commercials? Really?”

“No, you're not. I just... don't think we expected you to say that.”

“I'm not an idiot.”

“No one was saying you were,” Veronica told her. She took a breath and let it out. “I doubt that they're at Mark's house, though they probably went there for JD's bike.”

“Do you know where JD's house is?”

“Oh, please,” Duke said. “Do not tell me we're going to be as stupid as they are and go after them. What if his dad is there and finds us? You want us all dead?”

* * *

“This is a really bad idea,” Mark said, and JD snorted, though he knew his brother wasn't wrong. None of their plans to deal with his father were particularly smart, but that was the problem with Bud Dean—he didn't really make smart plans possible.

The only smart plan JD had ever had was hiding from him, and that one wasn't going to work for much longer, not with Mark's parents determined to work things out to take him in. If he wasn't so sure that Bud would never agree to it, he'd jump at it. Even if he was emancipated, like Veronica suggested, he'd need a place to live, at least until he had some money of his own to speak of, and he didn't mind the Hunters as much as he thought he would.

He was a little jealous of Mark most of the time, and irritated with them, too, for being what they were and so damned blind, but he didn't hate either of them. And they weren't bad people.

Bud Dean was, for all that he smiled and seemed like a bit of a health and fitness nut. He was one of the worst people JD had ever known, and he'd grown up with his fair share of bullies over the years, moved from one school to another.

His father was still the worst of all of them, and he had to be stopped.

He should just shoot him, but he'd made some stupid promise to Mark, and while he'd never said the words to Veronica, he sort of had given her the same one, so he was stuck. No killing Bud.

“The site's shut down,” JD said. “Must have hit a snag on permits or something, or they'd be working today. Weather's good, so it's not that, but that explains why he's at home.”

“And no one's going to be upset if we go onto this site?” Mark asked doubtfully, letting his disbelief show in his face as well as his voice.

“Oh, someone will be unhappy,” JD agreed. “We just don't have a better option at the moment. I would love to just have Veronica forge my dad's signature on an agreement, but as long as he's alive, he'd dispute it. And yeah, I've only got a few months until I'm eighteen, but I know him. Bud won't let me go and say I win this time because you're here and your parents are willing to take me off his hands. I don't get to win. That's not how this works.”

Mark nodded. “I know. That's why we're here. We're going to try and find something on your father that we can give to the police, something they have no choice but to act on, and if they don't, we do the same thing as we did with Heather Chandler—we put the letter on air.”

“Bud's misdeeds in business aren't the same as Chandler screwing little girls.”

Mark looked at him. “I don't even want to ask, but how old were you the first time he hit you?”

JD swallowed. He didn't want to answer that. Didn't want to think about it. His dad hadn't wasted much time, though things were definitely worse after his mother died. “Let's just find what we can and get out of here.”

He went up to the door, trying the handle. It was locked, but that didn't surprise him. He took out a couple of pins and made a makeshift pick, having taught himself this as a survival skill as soon as he was able, learning everything there was to know about lockpicking in the local library after a few too many times locked in his room or worse, a closet.

They'd want that detail in the letter if they wrote one, all the terrible things Bud had done, and JD didn't want that known, didn't like all these people knowing about it.

He got the lock and opened the door, stepping inside and letting Mark pass him.

“You know it's not your fault, right?” Mark asked as JD shut the door. “This stuff with your dad... he's the one that's wrong, not you.”

JD pushed him toward the desk at the far side of the room. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because you didn't want to tell anyone earlier, and I've been thinking about it,” Mark said as he sat down in the chair, shifting the papers on the desktop first. “I was thinking about Heather, too, and why she didn't reach out to anyone before she died—”

“Her father was a sicko pervert who went after young girls and she was a control freak,” JD said, trying to pay attention to the files in the cabinet he'd just opened. “No surprise there.”

“Yes... and no,” Mark said, “I mean, that was part of it. I don't deny that, but I think a part of her was afraid of what would happen if everyone knew. She was ashamed. Because she's not the only one wondering if he did it to her, too, and if he did... well, for some reason that sticks to the kid instead of the parent, like somehow they did something wrong. And for you... people might say you deserved it because you're a troublemaker, but that's not why he does it. And even if you did act up to where maybe you needed a spanking to stay in line, what he does is not discipline. It's abuse.”

“Thank you, Mr. Expert,” JD grumbled, looking at the forms and seeing nothing about them that made them look wrong, but then he wasn't sure he'd know what he was looking for anyway.

“I'm not, and you can try to pick a fight with me if you want to, but if you're going to tell me that I'm not to blame for Malcolm or Heather or anyone else I inadvertently hurt with my show, then you have to put up with me telling you that the abuse isn't your fault. At best, if you did everything you were supposed to and didn't mouth off once... he still hit you, didn't he? Made up some excuse or used an even smaller infraction as a reason. He only wanted to hurt you. The rest of it didn't matter. It wasn't about you being good or bad. It was about him excusing what he did and putting the blame on you because that's the best way he had of making sure you didn't tell anyone. You're ashamed, you blame yourself, you don't talk.”

JD slammed the drawer shut. “Oh, and how do you know all this, Mr. Perfect Parents?”

“I read about it,” Mark said. “And no, I'm not an expert, and neither was the person who wrote that book. They just... lived it, and wrote about it in a book—a fictionalized account, but they said in the afterward they knew that life and wrote the book to educate people about what they went through—it's banned, by the way, my parents wouldn't like knowing I read it—and I know it's not what you want to hear, but... you remind me of that character in some ways. He was like you, brave and bold and seemingly fearless but tormented by a past no one knew about.” 

JD snorted. “And what, this guy was the hero?”

“Not exactly,” Mark answered, pulling open a drawer. “At first, he was hurting so bad he didn't care who he hurt, so he wasn't the nicest guy in the world, but he got caught up in something bigger than him and ended up helping people in the end.”

JD shook his head, opening the next drawer down. He still hadn't found anything that came close to proof. “You know that's not me, right?”

“I'm not an idiot,” Mark said. “And I think I know why they stopped working on this site. Looks like the historical committee protested the action, trying to make this hotel a landmark.”

JD almost swore. “That is not good for us, either.”

“What?”

“He was already angry about me getting away from him, but if he is dealing with a shutdown at work—a historical one, no less—he'll be completely impossible. If I was home, I'd be looking at the kind of thing that should put me in the hospital for months, if I lived through it at all.” JD didn't look at his brother when he said that. “Did you see anything else? Anything about what he's planning to do about the landmark status?”

“If he's planning on bribing someone or going behind their back and blowing it up anyway, then he didn't leave any hints of it here. We may be looking in the wrong place.”

JD grimaced, even if they already knew that.

* * *

“We are not doing anything stupid for your boyfriend, Veronica,” Heather insisted. She was so not getting herself in trouble for trench coat boy. She didn't want to end up dead, and definitely not for Veronica's boy toy.

Well, as far as boys went, both JD and Mark were cute, but that didn't mean much. Cute was still not worth dying for.

“We're not doing anything stupid if we're just checking to see if they're here,” Veronica disagreed. She got out of the van, and Heather swore she was not letting her drive later. That was how they'd ended up here, and it was not happening again.

“I think it's pretty obvious that they're not here,” Heather said, following after her and Nora. She hoped the others had the sense to stay in the van. They wouldn't be able to run if they had to, and they were probably going to have to, thanks to Veronica's lousy taste in men. “There's no cars. No bikes. Nothing.”

“I don't think JD would have parked close,” Veronica said. “He's not that stupid, even if he's trying to do something dangerous.”

“I'm not sure that they thought they could wait, not when Mark's parents are pushing the issue of him moving in with them,” Nora said. “If the Hunters insisted on meeting JD's dad, not only would they put themselves at risk, but they'd be telling Bud Mark existed, and one thing JD was sure of was that Bud would hurt him.”

“I understand you're worried, but dragging everyone into this mess is not a good idea,” Heather insisted. “There are too many of us, and we will get caught.”

“Most of them are still in the van, and we're just taking a closer look at the house,” Veronica said. “If we find the boys, we get out of here.”

“And if you don't?” Heather pressed. “What then?”

Nora and Veronica exchanged a glance. “We're going to take a look around inside.”

“You're insane.”

“Maybe,” Veronica said, “but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to everything I can to help JD.”

Heather groaned. She knew there was no way that either of them would back down. They figured they were in love, and that meant some idealized notion of protecting those two, even from themselves. “On second thought, maybe we should get the others.”

“Really?”

“If it'll get us out of here faster, yes.”

* * *

“There's nothing here,” JD said, slamming the drawer shut in frustration. Mark winced, though he'd reached the same conclusion and was just as angry, even if he wasn't hitting drawers. He'd really hoped that they might come across something here that could do something for them, anything.

They hadn't found any proof of Bud dealing in anything illegal, and that was what they needed.

“We should probably go.”

JD nodded. “Yeah. We can always drive by the house again, see if he's still there. Maybe he'll be gone by now.”

Mark wasn't sure he wanted to do that, but he was still willing to try, since he really didn't want JD to ever have to go back to that place or his father. He wanted to help.

He followed JD to the door. His brother jumped down the steps, and Mark went after him, hurrying to catch up to the other boy.

“I'm sorry there wasn't anything there.”

JD looked back at him. “Mark, seriously, this isn't your fault, either.”

“I wasn't saying it like I blamed myself,” Mark told him. He didn't. “I just know both of us would rather have found something here than have to find something somewhere else and risk another confrontation.”

JD frowned. “Did you swallow a dictionary or what?”

“I deliberately extended my vocabulary for the radio show,” Mark admitted, and JD looked at him. He shrugged. “If all of my speech patterns were the same, my parents or anyone who knew me would recognize me as soon as I opened my mouth. I didn't want that.”

“But you're using the five dollar words with me... why?”

“When I get nervous, I revert to the other personality until I feel confident again,” Mark said. He didn't want to admit to it, but it was true.

JD smirked, and Mark knew the laughter was coming any second.

Only it didn't.

“Hello, Jason,” another man said, and JD went rigid at the sound of his voice. “I'd ask you to introduce me to your friend, but I don't think that's necessary. Do you?”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Mark are caught by Bud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew this part was coming, but it was still unpleasant and hard to write. Action is hard, but violence... so much worse.
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> On a much brighter note, go [here](http://penguinpatrolerarmy.tumblr.com/post/171920732039/jd-swallowed-fine-let-mark-go-hes-got-no-part) and enjoy the very nice art created by peguinpatrolerarmy of the opening scene of this chapter.
> 
> And please show your appreciation for this unexpected gift to artist, please.

* * *

Bud Dean looked like an ordinary man, Mark thought, not that different from his own father. No glasses, an ugly track suit, and a smile that seemed a bit off, but on the whole, pretty similar. He wasn't sure he would have bought him as JD's biological father even if he hadn't already known that JD was adopted, but he didn't see any real resemblance there at all.

He thought that was part of the problem, the ordinariness of the man, his seemingly warm smile. He was being charming, and Mark thought his parents would have fallen for it. He had a flash of a dinner, him and JD walking in to find that Bud had run into Mark's mom at the market and been invited in, making friends and completely fooling the Hunters. He'd have them so convinced that keeping JD with him was a good idea, the best, and Mark would be better off with him, too, or something.

He knew that was paranoid. Shouldn't he be worried that JD had lied about this? Maybe he was wrong about just how much his father could do.

“Just let us go,” JD said. “You could be rid of me forever. The Hunters... they said they'd take me. I know I'm not yours. You don't want me. Just... let us go.”

Bud snorted. “Let you go? Just like that? Don't be an idiot, Jason.”

“Whatever you think he did, it's not worth the trouble of people looking into it, right?” Mark asked, swallowing and wondering where the hell that came from. “My parents really will take him off your hands. No need to do any more than just... say so.”

“And that's why you're here? To see if I'd agree to this nonsense?” Bud asked, shaking his head. “I don't think so. You and I have a long conversation ahead of us, a lot to talk about. You've been gone for so long, and you knew it was overdue when you left.”

JD swallowed. “Fine. Let Mark go. He's got no part in this. It's between you and me.”

Bud laughed. “Oh, really. You think that will work?”

“No,” Mark said, because he wasn't about to leave JD. Bud was still smiling and calm, but he looked this side of deranged, and not every monster was as obvious as Freddy Krueger.

“Hmm. You think you're the smart one, with those glasses, do you?” Bud asked, taking a step toward them. 

They both backed away from him. Mark was having trouble finding his voice again, though he figured JD knew what he was going to say anyway. They had to get out of here. They had to run.

Only they had to go in JD's direction because Bud had them blocked in front, the trailer was still behind them, and there was a car on Mark's side. He wasn't going far his way. He turned to push JD toward the bike, but Bud caught him first, twisting his arm and yanking him back.

He stumbled and almost fell, but Bud moved his other arm around Mark's neck, pulling him back up, his other hand still holding Mark's twisted wrist in place. With his free hand, Mark clawed at the hold, panicking as he fought to breathe.

“Let him go.”

“That's not how this works, and you know it, Jason,” Bud told him. “Go inside the trailer. Now.”

“Let him go.”

“You think you can make me?” Bud laughed again, leaning over Mark's shoulder. “I could snap his neck before you got one step closer. Now do as I say.”

Mark tried to shake his head. JD should just run. He had to run, had to get help.

Except Bud had him trained well.

JD lowered his head, climbing back up the trailer steps and going inside.

* * *

“I'd say your boyfriend is a complete slob, but somehow, I don't even think dark and scary is behind this,” Duke muttered, and Nora had to agree. She didn't know JD well, but she doubted he was the one that had gone through and destroyed everything in this room. Clothes were ripped and strewn about, buttons scattered across the floor, mixed with papers and anything else that might have been in the boxes that someone seemed to have taken a bat to over and over again.

“Is that... a bullet hole?” Betty asked, frowning as she pointed to the wall.

“Um, I think it is,” Veronica said, shivering. She was taking it pretty hard, but then, any of this damage could have gone at JD instead of his possessions.

It was frightening, knowing someone with this much rage was JD's father and could hurt Mark, too. Nora was trying really hard not to think about that. As complicated as things were, as much as she still had some doubts about how she felt about him because of the Hard Harry thing—God, who didn't love Harry? He was a hero now—she was scared for him, and she didn't want to think about what Bud Dean would do to him.

A part of her wanted to hope he wouldn't touch Mark at all, that he'd only go after JD, but that was not any better. JD did not deserve this.

“We have to help him,” McNamara said. “There has to be something we can do.”

“Or something Harry can do,” Martha said a bit hopefully.

“Not everyone was willing to believe that letter Harry read about that kid who was being abused,” Nora reminded them, knowing that there was little way Harry could help if Mark and JD ended up in real trouble.

“That was Heather Chandler, and she's not only dead now, but her death kind of proved that stuff was happening here, so people will believe it if he says something now,” Duke said. “Not that he can fix all the problems in the world, but you could still use him to tell the world trench coat kid's dad is a real freak.”

Veronica looked at Nora, and she knew they were having the same thought. They couldn't rely on Harry, not this time.

“Didn't they say—wasn't there something about bad business deals Bud had made?” Nora asked, trying to think of anything they could do. “We should go back through the office, see if we can find anything.”

“After that creepshow cupboard with the videos of explosions?” Duke asked. Shuddering. “I'll pass. That is not what I signed on for.”

“I don't think any of us signed on for this,” Paige said. “That doesn't mean we should just stop or ignore it. What if there is something here that can help? I mean, maybe pictures of the room would, seeing how the guy messed up his son's stuff. And those tapes of explosions... they're not exactly normal, either.”

“It is his business, though,” Veronica said. “So as creepy as we find it, he'd just say it was normal.”

“It's not normal,” Duke snapped. “Nothing about this family is normal.”

“Agreed,” Nora said, since some of it was pretty damned special, Mark and Harry and even JD. “So let's see if any of us can find anything in those files. I think I saw accounting books there... who here is good at math? Because it sure as hell isn't me.”

* * *

Bud dragged Mark inside the trailer, dumping him on the floor and leaving him there, gasping for breath. JD shuddered, knowing exactly what that was like and that it was only the start. He didn't doubt Bud would do what he said, though. He'd gotten away with killing JD's mom—suicide or not—and he probably thought he could get away with this, too.

And it wasn't like JD had been afraid for Slushie for no reason. He had lost other pets to Bud before, though Bud liked him to have them because they were good for keeping him in line, at least until he murdered them.

JD continued to back away from his father as Bud came toward him, putting the desk between the two of them. If he made it harder for Bud to get him, he bought Mark time. Maybe his brother could get away. He doubted it, he never had, but then... he'd always been alone before.

“You really shouldn't have run, Jason,” Bud said. “You know what happens when you do.”

“Like I would ever have stayed with you by choice,” JD said, looking around for something he could use to throw or hit his father with. That hadn't really worked before, either, but it was still worth trying.

He saw Mark moving out of the corner of his eye, and he was both relieved and worried, since Mark wasn't going for the damned door like he should have.

Bud got hold of JD's coat, yanking him over, and he cursed himself for being distracted. He couldn't do that with Bud, ever, and he knew it, but it didn't matter. His father had him, and it was way past time to pay for avoiding the last beating.

“You are such a little coward,” Bud said, slamming JD into the filing cabinet. His head hit the metal, and he saw black, choking on something trying to come up his throat. Damn, that had hurt a lot more than he'd thought it would.

“You can't do this,” JD said, his voice sounding funny as his head pounded. “Mark has parents. He has friends. People will know what you did. It won't be like before. You won't be able to bribe your way out of this one.”

Bud laughed. “You don't think I can? Don't you remember Arkansas? That happened right in front of the sheriff, but did it change anything?”

“That guy was corrupt. These cops can't afford to be. Just let us go. We won't say anything.”

“You won't say anything because by the time I'm done with you, you won't be capable of speaking,” Bud told him. “You remember that, too, don't you, Jason?”

“Stop it,” JD whispered, trying not to think about those times. They were bad, not worth thinking about, though the idea of any of that happening again—or to Mark—made him sick. He would lose it. He would.

“Jason,” his father chided. “You brought this all on yourself. Thinking you could escape me, that you could hide not only yourself but your twin over there... No, no, no. You can't. That's not done. I taught you much better than this.”

“All you ever taught me was that you'd hurt me,” JD told him, and Bud backhanded him, knocking him to the floor. He didn't understand. This wasn't like his father. Bud was usually careful, and this wasn't careful. He was leaving marks. He had witnesses.

Did he really intend to kill them both? Or did he somehow think that Mark's parents and the rest of them wouldn't look for him if he went missing?

How did he expect to get away with this?

Or did he think he wouldn't? Was that—could that—really be Bud's plan? That didn't seem like the man JD knew. Bud never wanted to be caught. He'd done terrible stuff, but he didn't want to pay for it, not unless paying meant throwing money at someone to make everything disappear. That had happened more than once.

“Get up,” Bud said, yanking him back up from the floor. “This is pathetic. Normally you don't go down and stay down like that. It has been too long, hasn't it? You're getting weaker, less able to tolerate the pain.”

JD was doing fine with the pain, though he hadn't had a concussion for a while and it was throwing him some, but the main thing was keeping Bud away from Mark, and this strategy, crap as it was, was working.

“Come on, son. No witty comeback?”

“What, Dad? You sick of your own voice now?” JD asked, managing a small smile. “I guess it's all you've had to hear for a while, so you must have gotten bored, right? Were you lonely? Are you going to say that you only beat me so you can have someone to talk to?”

“I hit you because you're a little shit,” Bud told him, following his words with another smack, this one making JD bump the desk, dropping files and junk on the floor as he slid across the surface. He looked around at what he'd scattered, hoping for some kind of weapon. Did they have letter openers around here? That would be perfect.

Damn, he never should have left his gun behind.

“And speaking of little shits, I think I've neglected your brother for too long.”

“Wait,” JD said, trying to get up again. “Don't you—”

Bud slammed JD's head into the desk and that time when things went black, they stayed that way.

* * *

Mark dragged in air as soon as Bud dropped him on the floor, choking and sputtering, feeling like he should be dead already. He hadn't been as scared of Kurt or Ram when they attacked him, though he supposed he hadn't had as much build up to that as to this, since he'd heard nothing good of Bud Dean since he met JD, but he swore one of them was going to end up dead in a few minutes.

Why hadn't JD run?

Of course, Mark knew the answer to that. It wasn't like he would have been able to make himself go. He couldn't, even though he knew it wasn't far to the door, and Bud was too focused on JD to stop him now that Mark could breathe again.

No. He couldn't do it. He wasn't abandoning JD to this, even if his brother seemed to think it was better if Bud only hurt him.

He looked at the other desk, the one he'd been at looking for proof of Bud's illegal business practices. That one had a phone like the one JD had insisted they get before the Chandler broadcast. A speakerphone.

Calling nine-one-one might be their only hope, since running wouldn't happen and wouldn't get help here soon enough, not when Bud had just slammed JD's head into a filing cabinet.

Mark crawled over behind the other desk, hating himself for not going to try and stop Bud even if he knew he'd never manage it that way.

He picked up the receiver and dialed the numbers, his hand shaking. He saw JD go down again, and he flinched, knowing he had to hurry. If he couldn't get this call made, fast, JD might be dead before they got here.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

Mark swallowed. He couldn't believe this. Of all the times for his voice to fail, now? He'd do it now? What the hell was wrong with him? He was over that, wasn't he? He'd finally managed to speak to Nora, more than once, and he was talking to all the others—okay, he hadn't really managed to say anything to Paige—but he was better.

Why couldn't he do this?

“Is someone there? This had better not be a prank.”

“Not a prank,” Mark whispered, forcing the words out. “My brother's in trouble... we both are...”

“What's happening? Where are you?”

Mark couldn't remember the location of the site. He couldn't give them the address. “Don't say anything else. Please.”

“What?”

“Don't talk. Just listen,” he hissed into the handset before pushing it to speaker, backing away as Bud taunted JD.

“Get up,” Bud ordered, dragging JD back to his feet. JD didn't even look at Mark. “This is pathetic. Normally you don't go down and stay down like that. It has been too long, hasn't it? You're getting weaker, less able to tolerate the pain.”

Mark thought that was wrong, had to be. This guy was sick, and it wasn't that JD was weak. He was strong, doing what he was doing. Mark didn't feel strong. He was the weak one, and that was pretty obvious now.

He looked at the lamp on the desk. It might be heavy enough that he could use it on the back of Bud's head and maybe knock him out. If he could, he'd save them both, right?

“Come on, son. No witty comeback?”

“What, Dad? You sick of your own voice now?” JD asked, taunting him with a smirk. “I guess it's all you've had to hear for a while, so you must have gotten bored, right? Were you lonely? Are you going to say that you only beat me so you can have someone to talk to?”

“I hit you because you're a little shit,” Bud said, knocking JD back across the desk, scattering everything on it onto the floor. JD went down, too, and Mark picked up the lamp, turning the end up and starting toward Bud with it. “And speaking of little shits, I think I've neglected your brother for too long.”

Mark froze, but that was stupid because Bud didn't even look at him.

“Wait,” JD said, trying to get up again. “Don't you—”

Bud smashed his head into the desk, and JD didn't move after that. Mark fought his panic, trying not to puke. He took the lamp and swung it at Bud. He turned as Mark did, and it didn't hit his head, glancing off his shoulder instead.

He grabbed hold of it, yanking Mark with it as he did. “You really shouldn't have done that, boy.”

“You can't kill us. They'll know about this. They'll—”

“They won't know. No one is going to save you just like they never saved him. And if you think what you've seen so far is bad, remember, I didn't have you for seventeen years. I've got a lot to make up for.”

“No,” Mark whispered, horrified. He had to believe that operator was still on the line and had heard all of that, but he didn't know for sure. If she'd hung up... No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. 

Bud pulled the lamp all the way out of Mark's hands. “And since you've found this for me, why don't we get started?”

Mark tried to duck, and the lamp hit his back instead of his head, but it still hurt. He cried out, and Bud gave him a good shove, knocking him down to the floor and holding him there as he hit him with the lamp again.

“Of course, you know the whole point of starting here was so that you'd both be less trouble to get in the car,” Bud said, smiling as he raised the lamp again. “I've got a great place in mind where there won't be any interruptions.”

Mark tried to get free, but Bud kept his hold on him, barely letting him budge, and the lamp came down on his head.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and JD try to cope with their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time trying to find the direction to go after the last part. I don't want to draw this plot line out too long, either, but I also wanted it to be everything it was leading up to, not something they just got out of easily because that felt wrong.
> 
> So this happened.

* * *

Mark opened his eyes to darkness and someone else breathing, a sort of rattling noise that was completely horrifying in the dark. He started to panic, trying to move only to find himself wedged in somewhere small next to the other breather. He tried to move up away from him, but that ended with him hitting his already aching head again.

He sighed, trying to understand what the hell was going on. Last he remembered, he'd been caught by Bud, much as he'd hoped he'd had a good plan for helping JD.

He'd been hit in the head. Right. That explained a bit, maybe even the darkness.

There was a thump, and he hit the black above him again, making him realize that they were actually moving. His companion moaned, and to his relief, Mark realized it was his brother.

About the same time as he started to panic again knowing this was a trunk. They were locked in the trunk of a car—Bud's, it had to be Bud's—and how the hell were they going to get out of there now?

He remembered what Bud had said about having someplace to take them where no one would interrupt them and shuddered.

They hit something else in the road, and JD groaned, starting to push at Mark, shoving him forward even though there was nowhere for him to go.

“JD, stop. We're... we're in your father's trunk.”

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

JD stilled, and Mark figured he was trying to come to terms with what was happening to them. “I don't... he put us in the trunk?”

“Yeah. I... I don't know if he knows about what I did, but I woke up here, before you did. He got you really bad before I managed to get back to him.”

“Should have run.”

“I went for the phone and called nine-one-one,” Mark told him. “It was one of those speakerphones. They heard everything he did. I just... I couldn't leave you any more than you left me when he had me.”

“So stupid,” JD muttered, and Mark frowned. “Thinking we could do anything against him...”

“I don't think it was _that_ stupid,” Mark said. “We didn't go confront him directly, didn't just rush in and demand he turn himself over to the cops. We were looking for proof he'd done something illegal, something no one could deny. And we didn't go in the house when he was there. The construction site was still a good idea. Neither of us knew he'd show up there to catch us. He shouldn't even have known we were there.”

“We did call to find out where he was working.”

“Yeah, but that didn't mean he knew to go there and find us,” Mark said. “We were as careful as we could have been. I mean, I suppose the safest thing would have been to call in a tip to the cops—”

“Who would have done nothing or found jack shit like we did,” JD grumbled, trying to adjust his position. “I've been through this before, you know. Every time I got someone to listen to me, there was no proof and I was just some punk kid making up stories. Even when I was black and blue from what he did, I was making it all up.”

“I knew you weren't,” Mark told him. “I never thought you had, not once.”

“Thanks, but it doesn't do us much good right now. We're in the trunk of a car.”

“I know. He said he was taking us someplace we couldn't be interrupted. Getting us inside the trailer was just to make it so he could do this. Easier to get in the car, he said.”

“Yeah, well, he did kind of learn that me screaming my head off when he tried to drag me into the car did get some unwanted attention, even if he could lie his way out of it every time,” JD muttered, shifting around. “And since there were two of us, he'd have to worry about losing control of one of us while he moved the other. Like you thinking I should have run when he had you.”

“It... it wouldn't have been cowardice, JD. You might have gotten help,” Mark said. “I hope they kept that call going, but it wasn't enough if he got us in the car.”

“Well, I was out by the time he told you that was his plan, so as soon as you were, he probably dragged us out one at a time, and he was parked almost right in front of the damned place. I saw his car when we couldn't get past him. If the cops had to trace the call—”

“It took too long.”

“They have him on tape hurting us,” JD said. “That's... well, if we don't die, it's something.”

“Do you know where he'd take us?”

“Yeah.”

Mark swallowed, not liking the sound of that. “It's bad, isn't it?”

“Bud rented a cabin once after a job. It was pretty remote. I'd... 'misbehaved' while we were there, and he took me out there... I didn't figure I was ever coming back.”

Mark thought about the seventeen years Bud figured on making up for and grimaced. “Well... he might think we'd still be out when he opens the trunk. That... it might give us a chance. And there is the tape... and... and the girls know what we were planning... mostly... maybe we shouldn't have left them behind, but they're free and they know or at least probably guess...”

“I couldn't let Veronica anywhere near him.”

Mark nodded. He didn't like the idea of anyone near Bud, though he wasn't sure Bud would have risked it if they'd been in a large group. They had made mistakes, even if they'd tried to be careful.

“Just rest. We have to wait until he stops the car anyway.”

“You think that's better than trying to raise a fuss and get someone's attention while we're driving?”

“If we're on a highway or some remote road, what's the point? He'd be the only one that would know, and that would give away the only advantage we have right now. It's better if we just wait for him to open the truck and make our move then.”

* * *

“I don't see anything here that proves JD's dad is a criminal,” Betty said, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. “These accounts look fine to me.”

“I'd have to say the same thing,” Paige said, flipping the book she was looking at shut. “If this guy is doing something with his business that he shouldn't, it's not on record in here.”

“Or in here,” Duke muttered, shoving a filing cabinet shut. “Either your boyfriend was making it up, Veronica—”

“I don't think JD would have lied about this, about any of it. You don't—you weren't there, Heather. He didn't want to tell anyone about what his dad was doing, and he might talk all tough, but he's scared of his dad. Underneath all of his swagger, he's frightened by Bud—”

“And since JD is not the type to scare easily, this guy is really bad news,” Nora said. “We might not have found anything, but all that means is that Bud is careful, and if he's been abusing JD for as long as we think he has, he'd have to be or he'd have been caught by now.”

“Maybe not,” Paige said. “They move around a lot, so it would be harder for people to see it on a day in day out basis.”

“That doesn't mean much,” Duke said. “It's not like anyone thought you'd blow up your kitchen or thought Heather was hiding that stuff about her dad.”

“Not true,” Martha said. “You knew she was covering that up.”

Duke shuddered. “That was different.”

“I would think all that moving around would actually make people more interested in looking at them in the first place,” Nora said. “It's not like it's a stable home environment, so that would raise flags in of itself. What gets me is that they never did anything about it. I've seen other kids pulled from their houses with less grounds.”

“Oh, really,” Duke said. “Is that what happened to you?”

Nora shook her head. “No, but we lived near a reservation when I was younger. Those kids got pulled out of their houses all the time for the littlest shit. Forgot a coat for school one day? Gone. Wore the wrong pair of shoes? Gone. Didn't have money for lunch that day? Gone. They used to make jokes about it, but they'd use the smallest of excuses to pull the native kids from houses on the reservations and give them over to other families who were white.”

“That's so wrong,” Betty said. “They can't get away with that, can they?”

Nora shrugged. “As far as I know, they're still doing it. They say it's for the best, since a lot of those families can't afford things, but then... most of the businesses wouldn't hire Indians to work, so how the hell could they?”

Martha winced. “You should write Harry about that, too, get him to tell the world about it. Maybe it would stop.”

Nora swallowed. The more this went on, the less likely it was that Harry would be broadcasting anything, again, ever. She didn't want to think that, but Mark could be in real trouble now, and they hadn't found anything here to help.

“We should probably go.”

Veronica sighed, clearly unhappy about it, but she nodded, leading the others out of the house. Nora would have to get her alone again to talk about what they might do if the boys were late getting back, since everyone would be listening to Hard Harry tonight, and if Mark wasn't there...

“What the hell do you think you're doing here?”

Veronica stopped, and one of the other girls bumped into her back as the police pointed guns at them. Nora swallowed, raising her hands and hoping no one here was trigger happy.

* * *

JD tried to keep himself calm as the car continued on, refusing to remember the times before when he'd been in similar positions. He'd never been locked in a trunk before, or he would have panicked a hell of a lot more, but he'd spent hours locked in his room or closet waiting for that moment when Bud would return to make good on all of his threats.

And he would. JD didn't doubt that. If they weren't able to get to him when he opened the trunk, like they planned, Mark would be in real trouble. JD wasn't as worried for himself as he was for Mark. Bud insisting on taking him meant he was going to make Mark feel years worth of abuse, and while he knew Bud would try and keep him alive for as long as possible, like he had JD, that was a lot of lost time... and a lot of pain.

JD would lose his brother. He shouldn't even care, but he did, and he knew he couldn't let that happen, but it wasn't like he could fool Bud into thinking he was Mark. Bud knew all his scars, and even if they had the space to switch clothes, the hair would give them away.

He closed his eyes, not that there was anything to see, and tried to tell himself Mark's silence was just another part of their crappy plan.

The car turned, and JD bumped his brother, who didn't so much as groan.

“Mark?”

“What?”

“You were too quiet.”

Mark almost sounded amused. “I really don't know what to say right now.”

Neither did JD, so he let the silence resume. The car turned again, and he thought he felt it slowing down. They might be getting close to their best shot anyway. He tried to calm himself, knowing that his father always saw through his attempts to fake sleep, so this time had to be better than most if it was going to work.

Most of it was going to depend on Mark, though, since from what JD could tell, he was the one closer to the outside. JD was jammed further back, and he didn't know how much he could do about any of this.

The car stopped, and he felt Mark tense up beside, him. JD winced. “Relax. He'll know if you're awake if you're not careful.”

“Sorry,” Mark whispered, though JD knew that hadn't helped him relax any.

They waited. JD heard the car door open and slam shut, but Bud didn't come right to the trunk. JD tried not to get too worked up, since that was probably what Bud wanted. He was taking his time to unsettle them and make them do something stupid like call for help or something.

Neither of them did.

After what seemed like forever, JD heard the key turning, and the trunk opened up. He kept his eyes closed, fighting the bright light now invading them.

Mark made his move, throwing himself up at Bud, trying to knock him over. Bud was expecting it, though, and he dodged, grabbing hold of Mark and dragging him out. JD lunged, trying to get at either of them—Mark to help him, Bud to hurt him, but Bud reached over and slammed the trunk lid down, almost taking JD's hand off.

He curled it up against his chest, cursing as he was trapped inside again.

* * *

“Yes, yes, we'll give it all the consideration it deserves,” the police chief said. “Now if you'll excuse me, we've got other business to attend to.”

Brian nodded, forcing himself not to react too much. He knew he'd been brushed off, and it stung even more after having been left in the man's office for as long as he had been. They'd called him out on some kind of excuse, and Brian had been forced to wait, wasting his time over something he felt sure they weren't going to give any consideration at all. He knew they'd only been humoring him, and he hated it, since he knew how quickly this situation could escalate if the police did make enemies of the kids by arresting their local hero. More than one person in his office would be upset about it as well, and he refused to let that happen. 

He had to get hold of those tapes and listen for sure, but what little had had been exposed to of the show, while a bit course, was far from the end of everything the parents seemed to think it was.

He started walking out and stopped, frowning as he saw the very familiar group of girls sitting in the outer office.

“What are all of you doing here?” Brian asked, directing his words to JD's girlfriend, the dark-haired one who'd ended up at the edge of the group.

“They've been arrested for trespassing.”

“Trespassing?” Brian asked, not sure what to think of the boys' girlfriends and friends being caught up in all of this, and it was even more unsettling to realize that neither boy was here.

“I tried to tell you already—it's my boyfriend's house. I was just looking for some of his stuff.”

“Sure you were,” Detective Rhodes said. “You want to try that one again? Because I've already had a long night, and I'm having an even longer day, and I'm about to lose my patience. I've got officers calling in all of your parents—”

“Oh, no,” the girl with the glasses said, whimpering. “Please, we were only trying to help.”

“If you're going to arrest someone, make it that freakshow Bud Dean. He totally trashed his son's room, and he keeps a cabinet full of videos of explosions that's probably his go-to porn collection,” the other dark-haired girl muttered. “We didn't do anything. He did.”

Rhodes pinched his nose, fighting a headache. “Right. And you have proof of this?”

“No, but JD could prove it if he was here,” the blond said. “I think, anyway.”

“What do you mean, you think?” Rhodes asked, and Brian didn't envy him this conversation at all, though he was glad the man's distraction was allowing him to listen to it.

“It means the guy was hitting his son,” Paige Woodward said, flinching under her bandage.

“What?” Brian demanded, looking at Veronica and Nora, who lowered their heads. “Why the hell didn't anyone tell us about this?”

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to—”

“I'm not leaving. That boy, JD, he's my son's twin, and I want an answer,” Brian said. “For that matter, where are they? And don't lie and tell me they're at school. I won't buy that for a second.”

“We don't know,” Nora said. “We met up after Paige and Harry broke up the riot, decided to try lunch, the guys stayed outside to have another cigarette—”

“Another cigarette?” Brian asked, and the girl winced. His son was smoking? Since when?

“And we went inside. By the time we came back out, they were gone,” Veronica finished. “We assumed they went back for JD's bike, but we didn't know where they went after that, not for sure.”

Rhodes frowned. “Hold on a second. If this kid is your son's twin—”

“We adopted Mark. The agency never told us he had a twin. The boys met by accident,” Brian said, trying to control his reaction to all of this. “And I still don't understand why no one said anything about this to us. JD told us his father was out of town.”

“JD was afraid if his dad knew about Mark, he'd hurt him, too, and maybe even you and your wife,” Veronica said. “After you offered to let him stay with you, we all knew we had to do something about his dad, but no one ever believed JD before, so we weren't sure what to do. That was what we discussed when we had a smoke, and when the boys disappeared on us...”

“We figured they might have gone looking for something, so we tried JD's house,” Nora said. “The door was open when we got there. And you can look—JD's room is trashed, like she said. That wasn't us. We... we did go into Bud's office and look for stuff in his files that would prove he was doing illegal stuff because JD had said he was, but we didn't see anything there.”

Rhodes looked at Brian. “Would you come with me for a minute? There's something I need you to do.”

Frowning, Brian followed after him, going into the other room.

“You have that tape of the call?” Rhodes asked the woman at the desk. “I need you to play it back for this gentleman here.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just listen and tell me if you recognize this,” Rhodes said, gesturing for her to play the tape. It came to life, a bit scratchy over the line.

_“Not a prank. My brother's in trouble... we both are...”_

_“What's happening?”_ A woman's voice asked. _“Where are you?”_

_“Don't say anything else. Please.”_

“Mr. Hunter?”

He reached for the table. “I... That's my son. Or... Well... Mark and JD sound almost exactly alike. It's one of them. I can't tell you which one, but it's definitely one of them. What the hell happened? Where's my son?”

* * *

Mark curled up against himself, trying to figure out if he'd passed out after that last one or just wished he had. He must have been out for Bud to leave him alone, since he hadn't been tied up. Maybe he figured Mark couldn't get far, and it was almost true—Mark didn't want to move. His whole body hurt, and he knew he'd have nightmares about this for the rest of his life. He didn't want to think about what Bud had done or said after he got him alone in the cabin.

He felt sick, and he had to stop, thinking he was going to puke. His stomach heaved, and he leaned on his side, trying to calm himself down but unable to stop it. His head was throbbing again, and he was bruised all over. Everything hurt, so it wasn't like his stomach emptying itself was a surprise, but he still wanted it to stop.

And was afraid if he looked at it, he'd see blood.

He felt like he should be covered in it, but he wasn't. He had scrapes and cuts, yes, but Bud's main thing seemed to be hitting, and he left bruises, but not obvious ones. After all that time spent bashing JD's head around at the trailer, what he'd done to Mark here had been... different. He'd been focused on other things.

Mark shuddered, not sure if he could put weight on his legs. They weren't broken, he hadn't heard any bones snap, but they hurt. He'd thought Kurt and Ram were bad, but that had been nothing compared to what Bud had done.

That man knew how to hurt, and Mark was ashamed of how helpless he'd been to stop it. He'd tried, but Bud had won almost without any kind of fight, holding him down and taking what he wanted. He'd said he had seventeen years to make up for, and Mark felt like he had with only a few minutes.

He tried to sit up and cried out, biting down on his lip and dragging himself toward the door. He did see some blood on the wooden floor, but he tried not to think about it.

If Bud wasn't with him, he must have gone back for JD, and Mark knew if he'd been the one locked in the trunk, he'd have panicked and tried to free himself any way he could, probably hurting himself more in the process.

Mark winced. If JD was hurting as badly as he was, they'd never get free, and he was pretty sure this place didn't have a phone.

The door opened, and Bud dumped JD on the floor. His clothes were torn, and he looked as bad as Mark did. God, had Bud smacked him into the car? Was that it?

“Hmm. Maybe we should have gone for identical bruises. What do you think?”

“That you're sick,” JD muttered, curling up around himself. “And that I'm going to kill you.”

“That's a laugh. You can't even fight back. You can't stop me.”

Mark didn't want to believe that, but judging from the way neither of them could move right now, Bud was probably right. And while he wanted to believe they'd find some way of getting free and out of here, he didn't think it would be possible if Bud kept hurting them like he was.

They'd only had one plan after they were taken, and that one hadn't worked. He didn't know that anything could. Only that made it seem like Bud was some invincible monster, and while he'd done monstrous things, he wasn't anything supernatural or superhuman. He could be stopped.

He _had_ to be stopped.

“Did you only adopt JD so you could have a punching bag?”

Bud whirled, facing him. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. I wanted to know if you adopted him so you could hurt him. It must have been easier that way, since he wasn't your blood,” Mark said, gagging on his words and thinking he was about to make himself puke again.

“He's got a point,” JD said, forcing himself to sit up though Mark could tell it pained him. “It's not like you would ever have won father of the year, but I can't see you even wanting a kid unless you intended this all along.”

Bud turned to him. “Is that how you want to see it? That you weren't ever wanted except as a toy? Poor, poor little Jason. Poor baby. That it?”

“Well, I know I was wanted,” Mark said, though what he was about to say wouldn't be easy for JD to hear again, “my parents paid twenty thousand to adopt me out of love and desperation. I can't see you paying twenty thousand for the equipment for your business, and supposedly you did that for a kid?”

Bud looked at him. “You don't know anything at all.”

“He's right, though, isn't he?” JD asked, drawing Bud's attention back to him. Mark hadn't thought past distracting Bud, but they were bound to give him whiplash at this rate. Maybe more. “You didn't pay that for me. She did. She went behind your back and arranged the adoption.”

“With your money,” Mark said, getting Bud's attention as JD adjusted his position. “That must have pissed you off.”

“No wonder you killed her,” JD said, and Bud went for him, grabbing hold of his neck.

“I bet you didn't even know at first,” Mark said, trying to stop Bud from killing JD then and there. “She let you think JD was really yours, didn't she?”

Bud threw JD to the side and marched over to Mark, picking him up by what was left of his shirt. “You need to shut up right now.”

“Why the hell should I?” Mark asked. “You're a sick monster, but the worst you can do is kill us, which is what you'd have to do anyway because if we ever got away from you, we'd make sure you got arrested. And you didn't have enough time to pull your money out of the bank and make this trip permanent, so you can't be planning on holding us here forever—you would have—”

“What, tied you up? Had a special room built in the basement that no one knows about that you'd never get out of?” Bud asked with a smile that made Mark sick all over again. “What do you think I was planning on doing when Jason turned eighteen? Letting him walk away from me? You've got to be kidding. Nothing that's mine leaves unless I say it does.”

“No,” JD said. “You're just saying that to screw with him. There's not really a room down there, and you weren't planning anything—”

“Jason, why would I ever come to a shithole like Sherwood without a plan?” Bud asked. “That job? I knew the landmark committee would want to intervene, which made it the perfect excuse to stay in place until it was time to move you here. It's conveniently close enough to where I could do it overnight, so if you took off one night, no one would doubt you did or ever find you.”

“No.”

Mark pulled on Bud's hand, feeling a bit desperate after Bud's revelation. He really wouldn't let either of them go. Mark had thought he meant to kill them, but he didn't, and now... now he didn't know what to think. “It wouldn't have worked.”

Bud snorted. “Like anyone ever gave a damn about him before. He was always mine to do as I saw fit. You coming along complicated things, but I've already found hurting you is just as good as him, and I won't let you go, either.”

“I have parents,” Mark reminded him. “They won't stop looking for me.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bud said. “I can deal with them as well.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The police interview the family. The twins try to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to resolve all this by now, but it wasn't quite there yet. Questions had to be answered, things had to be done, and cliffhangers were wanting to be used.

* * *

“You're telling me you think this man kidnapped my son and his brother?” Brian asked, almost glad his wife wasn't here to hear this. Marla loved Mark more than anything, even when she failed to show it, and she had been able to accept and even maybe love JD from the beginning, unlike Brian who still struggled to welcome the boy into their lives, twin or not.

“It's possible,” Rhodes said. “We don't have absolute confirmation, but the tape from dispatch seems to suggest they were both present and may have been injured.”

Brian swore, not sure what he was going to do with his son missing. They had to do something. They had to find Mark. And his brother. “I don't—do we know where he went? Where he could have taken them?”

“I'm afraid we don't know much right now,” Rhodes said. “We had a location from the call, so we sent some patrol cars over to to check. It's a local hotel, old one, scheduled for demolition from this Bud Dean's company, though I'm told there's some kind of injunction there. We didn't find anyone there. What do you know about Bud Dean?”

Brian let out a breath. “Not much. JD didn't tell us a lot about his family. I know his mother's dead, but he'd told us his father was out of town. We... it's been complicated. We adopted Mark when he was a baby. We had no idea he had a twin. They found each other, and they didn't tell us. I had no idea that JD's father was abusive—believe me, if I had, I would have called your office to investigate him and made every effort I could to get custody of him. He's Mark's brother. I can tell how much he means to my son even if I don't like him that much.”

“Bad seed?”

Brian grimaced. “He's got more of a mouth on him than I care for, and Mark has been acting strangely lately, but if I'm honest about it, there's been... distance between me and my son for a long time now. I... I had no idea he was smoking.”

“And the girls out there,” Rhodes began, looking out at the other room. “They're friends?”

“Apparently,” Brian said. He ran a hand over his face. “Mark was... having trouble adjusting when we first moved. He wasn't making any friends that we knew about. It wasn't until Mark came to me at my job to ask for clemency for the girls that I had any idea he'd made friends, though it was after I'd met his twin. All of the girls were at the meeting about the dj, and they defended him, leading their principal to suspend them.”

“I see.”

“Veronica is JD's girlfriend, and Nora is Mark's, I think. They had dinner with us the other night. I think they might know more that can help you.”

Rhodes nodded. “I'll be talking to them soon enough. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us locate your son?”

“No, not that I can think of,” Brian admitted to his shame. “Mark is a pretty quiet kid most of the time. Not much of a troublemaker or anything, not that—”

“I'm not blaming your kid. I doubt he brought this on himself.”

“JD mentioned they moved a lot for his father's work. Other than that, he didn't say much. He mentioned his father not being a cook, not that it helps you much. It... I'm afraid things were very awkward for us after he came into our lives, and while Marla—my wife—was able to reach JD, I was not able to do much with him besides widen the gulf between me and Mark.”

“You know anything about the birth family?”

“You mean, do I think Bud Dean is his biological father? I... No, I got the impression both boys had found papers to prove the adoption, and I doubt JD would want that man as a father,” Brian said. “And the agency only told us that the mother was a young, unwed teen. It was a closed adoption, we don't know her name. I doubt she was involved in this man taking them, but I suppose we might not know as we don't even know who she is.”

“That could be a problem later,” Rhodes said. “You might want to look into getting that overturned so you can find out, especially now that there's two of them. Excuse me. I need to have a word with those girls.”

* * *

“Do you think he's gone?”

JD leaned back against the post, looking up despite the darkness. He didn't know why he'd bothered. He hadn't been able to stop his father from forcing them down here or tying them up. The idea of Bud planning this had thrown off their attempt to unbalance him, and he'd regained the upper hand, like always. JD should have known it would happen. It always had before. 

“I don't hear him, but that doesn't mean much. He could be sleeping.”

“Do you think he means it?” Mark asked, shifting against his own pillar. “Would he actually do it? Kill my parents?”

JD sighed. “I don't know. I wouldn't think he'd be that stupid, but then he hasn't been the smartest about any of this—he's normally so careful... this wasn't careful.”

“I didn't tell him about the call,” Mark whispered. “I should have, but I thought... I thought he'd end it before they were able to use anything from it, that... that they wouldn't find us or he'd kill us there if he knew. So I didn't say anything.”

JD grimaced. That was part of it. Bud not knowing about the call meant he thought he could do more. Still, it didn't make sense. “Taking us like this... It doesn't make sense.”

“He got away with doing stuff to you before.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you were alone. You didn't know anyone in those places he dragged you to, and no one would believe you,” Mark said, and JD could hear his hands scraping the bonds against the wood. “You're not alone here. You have Veronica and me... My parents. All the other girls. He has to know they'll come after him for this.”

“Either he thinks he has a way out of it, or he's past the point where he cares,” JD said. “And we better hope it's the first one because the second is really bad for us.”

“JD, we're tried up in a secret compartment in a cabin in the middle of nowhere after he beat us. Exactly how much worse can it get?”

“Don't ask,” JD said. That was never a good thing to ask or think about. There was always worse, and it could still happen.”

“Is it... I don't...” Mark swallowed. “I don't think he wants to kill us. That's what really doesn't make sense.”

JD shrugged. “I don't know what goes on in Bud's head, but... you heard him. I'm his, and I don't get to leave. I'm just... property.”

“He did pay for you, like my parents paid for me.”

“My mom did, but if she insisted on staying home while he was moving around... what if she did trick him into thinking I was his at first? God, he'd have been pissed when he learned the truth.”

“You think she would have tricked him like that?”

“I have no idea what went on in my mom's head, either. She was screwed up. Maybe she thought a baby would save them. Save her. Maybe she was just crazy. She did kill herself, but she did it by walking into a demolition, so... she was nuts.”

Mark sighed. “So... property. Is that enough to make him obsessed enough to keep you when it would have made more sense to let you go? Why not accept he'd lost this time and give you up? Why set all of this up as some kind of long-term plan to keep you after you were eighteen? Or was that a lie and this is just... I don't know. Convenient?”

JD shook his head. “I doubt this cabin had much in the way of a basement before he came along, but he has the tools and resources to build a room like this without anyone knowing, so he could have. It wouldn't surprise me. He wouldn't do it at the house in town because if even if I did 'run off,' the police would check it. Too much of a risk. This place... they might not even know about it.”

“So he had this in mind... He always meant to do this... bring you here.”

JD pulled on his ropes. “I guess so. I didn't want to believe it before, and it's crazy, but then... I always did have that sense that he wasn't going to let me go. I was trying to tell myself that I could make it until I was eighteen, but I don't know that I ever really believed it.”

“You really did think killing him was the only way to stop him.”

“Yeah.”

Mark sighed. “I'm starting to think you were right about that.”

JD shook his head. “No, you're the one that holds onto hope that the non-violent solution will work. You have to believe that. They'll find us. Your dad probably got the call that you weren't in class. He'd know to look for you. And the girls are probably really pissed off now, so they'd be looking.”

“Yeah, but if he was smart, he wouldn't have left anything that would tie to him here, and he's going to have to do something to make them think he had nothing to do with this. Or... he's going to kill my parents so people will stop looking.”

“If your parents die, they'll have even more reason to look for us.”

“Not if he makes it look like an accident.”

* * *

“I need to ask you some questions,” the detective said, looking from Veronica to Nora and then at the others. She thought maybe he was going to tell them to leave, but he seemed to reconsider it and didn't say anything about them going. “What can you tell me about Bud Dean?”

“We've never actually met him,” Veronica said, thinking she'd better start there. It was honest, and she wasn't sure she would be all the way through this interview. She already felt like she'd betrayed JD by letting his secret out, even if she hadn't been the one to expose it, just the one who confirmed it, and only because she was scared for him. “None of us have.”

“We've seen him on television,” Paige said. “That creepy commercial.”

Rhodes grimaced. “Yes, I know the one you mean. Still, I'm told you all are friends with Mark Hunter and Jason Dean—”

“He doesn't like being called Jason,” Veronica said. “He prefers JD.”

“Okay. JD. You're his friends, right?”

Duke laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Though Veronica over there is practically shacked up with him. I wouldn't be surprised if we see little trench coat kids running around soon enough.”

Veronica glared at her. “Shut up, Heather. I am not pregnant.”

“It's only a matter of time.”

“Honestly, did you have to start snarking at Veronica just because JD's missing?” Nora asked, frowning. “We so do not need this, okay? Mark and JD are gone, and they could be in real trouble.”

“No more, Heather, please,” McNamara said. “I'm worried about the boys, too.”

Rhodes looked at Veronica. “You're dating JD. What do you know about his father?”

She swallowed. “Um... he told me the first night we met that... um... he was afraid to go home. His father hit him and his mother was dead. I mean, he didn't exactly say all that then. It... He was afraid to go home. He said if he was lucky, his father was passed out drunk. I didn't like the implication of what would happen if he wasn't, so... I invited JD to stay at my house.”

“I'm not going to do anything about that,” Rhodes promised her. “That's between you and your parents.”

She almost flipped him off for being so condescending. “JD and I went back to his house Sunday morning to get some of his stuff. He was afraid to stay long, and he told me child protective services hadn't done anything for him, that they moved around a lot, and that was when he first said Bud's business might not be all legal. That day all we did was grab clothes and leave, though.”

“And at the time his room was fine.”

Veronica nodded. “That happened later, Bud trashing his stuff. JD found it when he went back to rescue his hamster. He'd found Mark by then and was able to take Slushie to Mark's house. We'd been talking about getting JD emancipated. He was suspended from school anyway, so he went looking for a job and got one, though I don't know how much work he's actually done because everything got... complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Heather died,” Duke said. “And we got suspended over Hard Harry.”

“And Mark and JD found out they were adopted,” Nora said. “They didn't know before, either of them, and it... well, it was really upsetting for both of them.”

Rhodes nodded. “Okay. So you never met Bud Dean. Did you see any signs of abuse?”

Veronica felt herself get a bit red. “JD has scars. Older ones, but he has them.”

“Mark was bruised,” Martha said, and everyone looked back at her. “I saw it. He was.”

“Yeah, but that was Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly, not Bud Dean,” Veronica said. She looked back at the detective. “They'd gotten into a fight with JD at school. He won, so they were pissed and went after him again with more kids to help them. Only they found Mark, not JD, and JD had to stop the fight and help Mark clean up afterward. It's how they met.”

Rhodes frowned. “How bad was this fight?”

“Bad enough, but since they only suspended JD the first time, it wasn't worth reporting to anyone,” Veronica said. “What did you say to Mr. Hunter?”

Rhodes grimaced. “I can't tell you that. It's still possible that your boyfriend and his brother are in danger, though, and it may be connected to Bud Dean. Do you have any idea where they might be now?”

“No. I wouldn't think they'd have run or gone anywhere with Bud willingly.”

Nora frowned. “There may have been something in those files—”

“Uh, Detective Rhodes. We have a problem.”

* * *

Brian paced the lobby, unwilling to leave the police station until he knew more, which he would get from the girls if not from the detective. He had to know what was happening with his son, and he couldn't make himself go, even as much as he knew he had things to do at work and should sit Marla down to tell her what he knew so far.

He grimaced, not wanting to think about how much this would devastate her. She'd almost refused to marry him because she couldn't have children, and she'd wanted more than anything—more than her revolution, her causes and campaigns for women's rights—to be a mother. She was out to prove that she could be a feminist and still have a family, and she had loved Mark from the beginning, barely taking her eyes off him, fussing and fretting so much...

How could he tell her this? That her son—and the brother that looked so much like him—were missing and probably hurt if not dead?

“Excuse me,” a man said, leaning over the counter to talk to the desk sergeant. “I need to file a police report.”

“Yeah? Well, you've come to the right place for that, I suppose. What're you reporting?”

“My son. He's... missing.”

Brian looked over at the man, taking in his blond hair and track suit, frowning. He seemed too calm for someone whose son was missing. Brian was going out of his head.

“How long has your son been missing?”

“A little over a week,” the man said, and now Brian wasn't the only one frowning at him. “He's seventeen, and he and I don't always get along. He's run off before, and I figured he'd done it again. I tried to wait him out, but I don't think he's coming back this time.”

“You want to file him as a runaway?”

“Yes, I think that's best,” the other man said with a sigh. “I didn't want to have to do this, but if he was coming back, he'd have done it by now. There were a few times I thought he'd been by the house, but not when I was there, and I don't... the hamster's gone, too, so I have to assume he's not coming back.”

“All right. I'll get you the paperwork,” the man said, rising from his chair. “Wait here.”

Brian walked over to the desk, curiosity and something else warring within him as he did. “I couldn't help overhearing what you said.”

“Ah, well, you know. Kids, right?”

Brian didn't nod. “I hope you don't mind me asking, but... I'm the school commissioner, and there actually have been some unexplained absences—would you mind telling me your son's name? He might be one of the ones I was looking into.”

“I doubt it,” the man said. “Jason didn't stay in this school more than a day, so I'm sure he's not anyone you need to worry about.”

Brian swallowed. “Would that be... Jason Dean? As in... you're Bud Dean?”

“You've seen my commercials?”

Brian hadn't, but he couldn't believe that this jerk was standing here, claiming his son was a runaway. This wasn't possible. This was the man who had both boys, wasn't it? And yet he'd walked into the police station just like that, like he had nothing to hide.

“Where is my son?”

Bud frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Where's my son?” Brian demanded. “Don't tell me you don't know. You have to know. You're JD's father. You have them both, don't you?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Jason hasn't been home in over a week, and I don't know your son at all. I have no idea who you are.”

“Brian Hunter. My son Mark looks exactly like your son, JD. And you know where they are. Don't you dare lie about that. Tell me where they are. Now.”

Bud shook his head. “I can't. I don't know. I've never met your son, and why would you think he looks anything like my kid? If your wife claimed she was having some kind of affair—”

Brian lunged at him, but the cops got in the way, pulling him back. He knew he must seem crazy, but he knew Marla hadn't had an affair. He knew the boys were adopted, both of them. He knew that Bud had them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Rhodes demanded, getting between them and the other officers.

“That's Bud Dean,” Brian said, trying to get at him again. “Make him tell you where my son is.”

“That man is insane. I came here to report my kid as a runaway, and I got attacked by that psycho,” Bud said. “I guess his kid is missing, and it unhinged him, but that doesn't give him the right to attack me like this.”

“No, you're right, it doesn't,” Rhodes said, giving Brian a pointed look. “I do have some questions for you, though, Mr. Dean. Please come this way.”

* * *

“I never really liked the dark,” Mark said, pulling on the ropes above his head, trying to twist himself free. He didn't know that he could do it, but he felt better for trying. In his head, at least, he felt better. He needed to do something even if it hurt.

And it did hurt. It really hurt.

“You ever dream about the bogeyman?”

“I will now,” Mark admitted, shuddering. He didn't think he could ever forget what Bud had done to him, and he'd never have a night's peace again. “You lived with him.”

“Mark, I—I'm sorry. I... I know I... I didn't... I should have just gone on my own. I didn't want him to hurt you. I didn't... this wasn't supposed to happen. You... it was bad enough you got it from Kurt and Ram, but they're amateurs compared to him and—I should have known he'd find us. He always found me before.”

Mark grimaced. “JD, this is not your fault. I mean, we could have done things differently, but what we did do, we... we tried to be safe about it. He must have been told we were at the site. And he parked in a way that blocked us... and we both weren't thinking when we just stopped, but that's not—this isn't your fault.”

JD yanked on the pole he was tied to, and Mark flinched. “It is, though. It's not like I stopped him. I could have, and I didn't.”

“I was the one that told you there were other ways.”

“Don't you go blaming yourself. This isn't your doing. I could have stayed away. I knew better than to get you involved. Ever.”

“Like it would have saved me,” Mark said. “I might have shut down the radio show. No one would know what Heather's father did. And if Bud was really going to do this to you all along... he could still have found me. We don't know that he didn't see me on television. And I made the school paper, same with everyone else. My parents have a copy of it. There were other ways he could have known, not just us going to find a way to stop him. And I don't know that we were wrong for trying. We just have really, really bad timing.”

“That's an understatement.”

Mark shifted his position, still trying to work the rope. He bit down on a cry and held his lip until he could talk again. “I'm sorry, too.”

“What? Why are you—”

“I could have done a lot more to help you with your dad than one fake letter,” Mark said. “I had the radio show. I didn't tell you about it at first, but we could have done a second letter, we could have exposed your dad... we just ignored him and put it off... and now we're paying for it.”

“You faked that letter?”

Mark grimaced. “Um... yes. And I'd say I was sorry for that, too, but... I'm not. If it... I wanted to help you. I didn't know how. You'd stormed out, and I was worried... I did the only thing I could think of... I had to.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“As long as you're not apologizing because you think you're dying, we're fine.”

“Oh.”

Mark leaned his head back against the pole, closing his eyes. He didn't think he was dying. He was fine. He hurt, but he didn't think any of it was fatal, just made him want to die, a little.

Wait.

“JD, were you apologizing because you think you're going to die?”


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some added complications happen but there's still a chance for a rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to find the right ending for this was hard.

* * *

“Brian?”

He turned, facing his wife with a heavy heart and queasy stomach. He hadn't called her, and she wouldn't forgive him for that, not that he would have wanted to do it and drag her into this, but clearly the police had other ideas because they had brought her here.

“What is going on?” Marla asked. “They told me they needed to speak to me, said they'd give me a ride, but so far no one has explained anything, and while I did wonder for a bit if they thought I could tell them more about the Chandler thing because I am a school nurse, they'd have been wrong because I don't work at the high school. The only other thing I could think of was that something happened to Mark or JD, but they're at school. Aren't they?”

If Brian had stayed in his office, he probably would have heard about his son ditching class. He hadn't. “Marla, I... This all seems insane. This morning, kids were rioting in this parking lot and now...”

“Brian, what happened?” Marla demanded. “If something has happened to Mark or his brother—”

“They may have been... taken,” Brian said, and she stared at him. “I was here to talk to the police chief about dropping charges against Hard Harry if we could get him to agree to a regulated show at the school—”

“You thought of that?”

Brian nodded. “It seemed better than starting a fresh war now that he's a bit of a folk hero to those kids. I know if they arrest him, there will be more riots, and he won't be there to stop them like he did today.”

“How does this relate to Mark and JD?”

Brian sighed. He had a feeling both boys knew more about Hard Harry than they were saying, but that was something they'd have to address later, when and if Mark and JD were found again. “It just meant I was here to see that the girls had been arrested for trespassing.”

“What?”

“They went into JD's father's house to look for incriminating evidence against him.”

“I don't understand. Are they thinking they're detectives now that this radio person has uncovered a murderer?”

“According to all of them, JD was being abused by his father.”

Marla winced. “Oh, no. I should have—we should have—seen it. He said things that worried me, and I wanted to help, that was why I offered him a room with us, but I didn't—I still didn't think it was that bad.”

“Neither did I,” Brian said, aware of the eyes on them. The officers who'd brought her in didn't seem to know what they were supposed to do with her, and Rhodes had yet to come out of the room they'd led Bud into.

That bastard.

“I still don't understand. If they wanted to ask us about JD's father, why all this?”

“JD's father may have taken them.”

“No.”

“He may have... hurt them. Both of them. There was a call... one of the boys called nine-one-one. I only heard a bit of it. They were asking me to confirm that the voice was Mark's... I couldn't say it was. They sound a lot alike. It... Whichever of them it was, they said they were in trouble.”

“And that's all we know?”

Brian nodded, pulling his wife close to him and holding her in his arms. “They don't know what happened after the call, didn't find them wherever the call came from... We don't know anything. Except... Bud Dean is here and trying to claim he doesn't know anything about Mark and JD ran away a week ago.”

“Oh, God. If he's telling the truth—”

“He's not.” Brian was sure, for all that man's innocent act, that Bud knew where the boys were and had hurt them. He knew it.

“But if he was... and he's the only one they think... how will we ever find them?”

* * *

“I'm fine,” JD said, though admittedly, he wasn't. He didn't have any cracked ribs this time around, which was always a relief, but he knew he'd been hit in the head too many times, and he still wanted to puke. He definitely had a concussion.

He'd also been knocked into a car a few times for fun, and he knew he was bruised. Some of them were worse than others. He knew he couldn't tell if they were bad enough for internal bleeding, but... there was still this part of him that kind of thought they were. The one on his right side when he'd been slammed into the trunk, that one felt bad, worse than most.

“Don't lie to me,” Mark said, and JD could hear him shifting again. “Please, don't.”

“Honestly, Mark, I figure we're both in bad shape. I don't know if it will kill us, but since he knocked us both out... we have to worry about that... and who knows when he'll be back... and I don't even know what he did to you when he had you alone upstairs.”

“I... I don't want to talk about it,” Mark said. “I don't... I... You think one of us will just pass out and die because of the head injuries?”

“Whoa. Do not start panicking. You can't do that now. I can't... I'm stuck over here, and if you can't breathe or end up puking—don't puke. Just don't. You do not want to be tied up next to that.”

“I know.”

JD leaned his head back against the pillar. “I feel stupid. Not... not just because he caught us... I actually started to think I'd get away from him this time. That was stupid.”

“No, it wasn't. My parents offered you a place. You have me and Veronica. A job. And you're almost eighteen. You weren't wrong to hope.”

JD snorted. “Hope just gets you hurt.”

“Not always,” Mark said. He gave a little laugh, and JD thought he sounded a bit loopy, if laughter could be loopy. Was Mark in as bad of shape as he was? Probably, maybe even more. “You know I used to dream about having a brother when I was younger. I thought about having a sister, too. I did. I just... I kind of wanted a brother more. I figured he'd understand me, whereas all the girls I ever seemed to meet thought I was a freak.”

“You?”

“You try having glasses at a young age and a bit of speech impediment and see how many people think you're 'normal.' I was actually kind of enjoying being invisible here in Sherwood, for all that I was fucking miserable.”

JD nodded. He understood that, too. He'd lived it, though he'd mostly moved around too much for people to notice him or care if they did. “And you're all happy now because you did meet me?”

“Yes.”

“That's—”

“It's not stupid, and it's not... sappy. It's true. I am glad we met, that I had a chance to know you. I don't care if Bud's a psycho. Meeting you was still a good thing. For both of us, I think.”

“We're going to die in this basement,” JD said, biting down on his lip when the pain in his side flared up again.

“Yeah, but not alone, and that has to count for something, right?”

* * *

“Mr. Hunter?” Nora asked, worried by how upset he and his wife seemed to be. Nora had managed to slip away since she and the other girls had been forgotten in the chaos after the detective left. She wasn't sure if they were going to lock them up for going into Bud Dean's house or not, but she wasn't as concerned about that as she was the Hunters.

He seemed shaken, and his wife was also very upset. She might even be crying, which made Nora's stomach twist up in ways she didn't want to think about. She didn't like what she saw, especially since they had to have told him more than they'd told her and the other girls. He was an adult and Mark's father. He had to know more.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hunter said, backing away from her husband's embrace and looking at her. “Nora.”

“Are you okay?”

Mr. Hunter was the one to answer. He shook his head for both of them. “Not particularly, no.”

“I doubt you are, either,” Mrs. Hunter said as she looked Nora over, her eyes tearful but she somehow managed not to shed them. “You were trespassing. And now you're here.”

“They asked us about Mark and JD... mostly JD and his father,” Nora said. “Veronica's really the only one who knows anything, but we did tell them what we could.”

“Why didn't any of you tell us?” Hunter asked. “I may have been... I had a hard time accepting JD, and I know we never told Mark about the adoption, but it didn't—we love him. He's ours. Nothing else seemed to matter. And now... some psychopathic abuser has him, but none of you saw fit to tell me or my wife that he was like that?”

Nora grimaced. “I... JD was worried that if either of you spoke to his dad, you'd end up hurt, too. We talked about it just before they ditched us, trying to find a way to get JD free of him without anyone getting hurt. We knew it was what made them go off without us... I think they were trying to keep us safe, too. I don't know what JD would do without Veronica. They're a little... too close.”

Hunter nodded. “I can see that.”

“He's in love for the first time in his life,” Mrs. Hunter said. “It's a powerful thing, sometimes seems more intense than it really is.”

“And sometimes it isn't,” Mr. Hunter said, getting a weak smile from her.

“What did they tell you?” Nora forced herself to ask, even though she knew it was going to upset both of them. “About Mark and JD? It's bad, isn't it?”

Hunter sighed. “They had a tape. A call to nine-one-one.”

Nora felt weak, wanting to find something to grab hold of or something. Anything. She didn't want to fall, and she thought it had to be stupid, but she couldn't help it. This was Mark. And calls to nine-one-one were almost never good. “And?”

“Rhodes thought they may have been taken.”

“By Bud.”

Hunter looked over at the other office. “He was here. He came in, walked right in, and tried to report JD as a runaway. I asked him where my son was. He said he didn't know what I was talking about.”

“He'd lie about that,” Nora said, sure that he had. “He has to. He wouldn't admit he took them. He's been hiding what he did to JD for years and getting away with it.”

“He might do it now.”

Nora shook her head. “No. Not this time. We won't let him.”

Mrs. Hunter put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you care about Mark, and we all want to hope for the best, but I don't know that there's much we can do, and we are not the police.”

Nora considered telling her that they'd already done the police's job in finding Heather's killer, but she didn't want to say it and how would they explain the Hard Harry thing if she did? No. She wasn't doing it.

“Nora,” Veronica said, coming up to her. She pulled her away from the Hunters, giving them a worried look before she spoke. “Martha remembered what she wanted to tell us about the paperwork she looked at. She wasn't sure it meant anything because it wasn't much—”

“Nothing we looked at was much or we wouldn't still be sitting here,” Nora reminded her. “What was it?”

“She said there was a lease on a property for two years. She thought it was strange because none of the others had been more than a few months at a time, six at the most, but that one was for two years. And it wasn't the house we were in.”

“Did she remember the address?” Nora asked, knowing they wouldn't be able to get close to Bud's house again to look for it.

“Yes,” Veronica said. “Martha and the others volunteered to stay to tell them what she knew. They'll come eventually, but I don't want to wait.”

“Well, that guy they led back to the other room is Bud, so he's here, and there's not as much of a risk in going if that is where he had them,” Nora said. “Do you still have the keys to the station wagon? Because the van's back at that house and—”

“Got 'em,” Veronica said, holding up the keys. “Let's motor.”

* * *

Mark knew he should say something, keep the conversation going. As long as JD was talking, he knew his brother was alive and could hold onto some small hope of them getting out of this alive.

He didn't know what to say, and his own wounds were making it difficult to think, so the silence stretched on, interrupted only when one of them moved. He knew it wasn't much, telling JD at least they weren't alone, but this seemed to be the fate his father had always planned for him, and maybe things could have gone differently, but Mark couldn't help thinking about how people always said no one should have to die alone.

He didn't want that for JD, but Bud would have made it happen, if this place was any indication.

Would it always have come to this?

Mark didn't know, but he had been worried about JD from the start. The fight, the gun, Mark wasn't sure what to think about that—and he had known that JD wanted to use that gun against his father. He hadn't, and maybe he should have. If they'd had it today, would they have been beaten?

Maybe. They might even be dead.

It was so hard to know anything.

“Mark?”

“What?”

“If only one of us gets out of here—”

“Don't. I wouldn't leave you behind and I know you wouldn't go without me, either.”

JD shifted on the other pillar, scraping against it. “You know what mean, Mark. It's not like either of us could run if we knew where the door was. I just... I figured, you know, if we don't get out... or if only one of us does—”

“You think you're dying.”

“I didn't say that.”

“It's kind of implied.” Mark yanked on the ropes above his head and almost cried out in pain. “And you apologized before... You _do_ think you're dying, don't you?”

“I don't know. I'm tired. My head hurts. The concussion makes me want to sleep.”

Back to trying to keep themselves awake again, then. “Your turn to talk, then. Tell me... about your mom.”

“What the hell for?”

“So you stay awake and don't die,” Mark said, not sure he could handle it if he was the only one who made it out. They both had to get through this or neither of them. He wasn't doing this alone. Maybe if Bud was here, he could offer himself as a distraction, keep him away from JD, buy some time—the whole seventeen years to make up for thing could be good for something.

Bud wasn't here. There was no way to save JD besides talking, and even then, it wasn't enough.

“Was it always like this?”

JD sighed. “No. I mean, he and my mom fought. They weren't happy, but I don't remember him really hitting me until after she died. Sometimes I was so sure... I think he blamed me for her going... like... she'd left because she couldn't handle raising me.. and she left me with him... and he hated her for it... but he couldn't get at her anymore... just me.”

Mark thought about what Bud had said about things that were his leaving only when he said they could. Did that mean he'd killed his wife... or just that he wouldn't let JD leave him the way she had?

Even so, Bud had to realize that it was very likely that JD or Mark could die out here without him controlling it. Where was he? Had he really left them here to die or would he come back?

“Mark?”

“What?”

“I'm glad I met you, too. And... I'm sorry.”

* * *

“This is insane,” Mr. Hunter said, and Veronica found herself glaring at him, again. She almost wished there'd been another way to do this, but the Hunters would have let them leave the police station after they realized what she and Nora were about to do, and it was only by talking them into coming along that they'd gotten out of there.

She still regretted it, though, even if Nora had pointed out they'd probably need Mark's mom, since she was a nurse.

“You keep saying that, Brian, but this is our son,” Marla said. “And if what everyone believes is true, the man who has them is not there, so it's not as dangerous as it could be, and I would rather be doing something to help than sitting in a police station waiting and wondering.”

“And praying they don't believe Bud's story this time,” Nora muttered, running her hands over her arms before turning back to her scribbling. Veronica didn't know what she was doing, but at least she could distract herself on the drive. All Veronica had were her thoughts and arguing with Mark's parents, which was not a good combination.

“I know,” Mr. Hunter said. “I... I just...”

Mrs. Hunter touched his arm. “Whatever happens, we face this together. That's the promise we made all those years ago.”

He nodded, but Veronica figured he didn't want his wife or either of them seeing what was at the cabin if it was bad. Veronica didn't know that she wanted to see it, either, but she had to know. She didn't want to believe JD was dead, but she couldn't be sure until they found him.

Or his body.

“You need to turn here,” she said, pointing him to the road. “It should be up on the left, I think.”

Mr. Hunter slowed the car down, pulling into a dirt driveway past the no trespassing sign. She could have made a joke, but she was too tense for that. The car hadn't really stopped when she opened her door and jumped out, running for the door.

“Veronica,” Nora called after her. “Wait up. What if Bud booby-trapped it or something?”

“This isn't the Goonies.”

“No, but he's sick, so he could have done something to the place. Be careful,” Nora said. Veronica looked around. She couldn't see anything, so she tried the door.

It was locked.

“I don't know about this,” Mr. Hunter said. “We have no proof either of the boys is here.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, elbowing the glass on the door and breaking it. She didn't care about anything besides making sure JD was safe, and if that meant breaking a law, she'd do it and a lot more. She'd like to get her hands on Bud herself, but she'd settle for saving JD.

She pushed the door open, stepping inside.

“Mark?” Nora called. “JD? Are you here?”

She walked further into the cabin. It didn't seem like much, since it was only the one room, no dividers. This didn't seem like the sort of place anyone would stay for long, and it also didn't seem like somewhere Bud could have hidden JD or Mark.

They must have been wrong.

“I think we better go before we get ourselves into trouble,” Mr. Hunter said. “I thought... I hoped, but this can't be it. There's no one here.”

Nora sighed, coming back from the part that was the kitchen. The wood under her feet made a strange noise, and she stopped. “Wait. What if we're not seeing everything?”

“There isn't an attic, or at least not much of one,” Mr. Hunter said. “The roof isn't tall enough.”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean there's nothing there,” Mrs. Hunter said. “If he kidnapped them, this isn't about giving them a lot of space to move around.”

He flinched, but then something thumped in the middle of the room and they all turned toward it.

“What was that?”

“I think there's something... or someone under our feet,” Nora said. “The board didn't sound right, and if Bud hollowed out a basement—”

“Look for the entrance.”

* * *

"I think there's someone here."

Silence. His brother didn't answer.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cabin is emptied and the waiting begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know much about medicine myself, and it's been a while since I watched the older medical dramas I was into to have a suggestion of what it would have been like back then, so I'm sure I've got inaccuracies everywhere.
> 
> I also have to take a dying cat to a vet, so... I'm not really sure I'm up to making things accurate.

* * *

“Here!” Nora called out, getting everyone to rush to her side. At first, it was hard to see anything at all, but there it was, underneath the counter, Brian could see the barest hint of a cut in the floor. It made sense putting it under this countertop. No one would think it moved, and they wouldn't look past it if they had seen that small corner peeking out.

“Let's get this moved,” he said. “Marla, I need a hand with this.”

His wife joined him and with both the girls' help, needed or not, they pushed the counter out of the way, exposing the trap door.

“That's got to be it,” Nora said. “I bet Bud put that in himself.”

“You'd think he'd have a better way to get the counter out of his path if he was planning on going down there a lot,” Veronica said. “That counter's too heavy to move around all the time.”

Brian chose not to say anything, since his mind went right to the idea that coming and going from this place was never the man's intention. The idea might have been to leave bodies down there never to be found since no one would know to look under the heavy counter for a trap door. He forced the thought from his mind and pulled open the door.

“Mark? JD?”

He didn't get an answer, but he wasn't sure he expected one, even if they'd heard something under there. There was a good chance the boys were gagged even if they had been behind the noise earlier.

“I'm going to go down. Is there a flashlight or a lantern anywhere around here?”

“If Bud built it, it might have a light down there, but we'll look,” Nora said, and she and Veronica started going through the cupboards and drawers. Brian decided he'd test the theory about the light and dropped down into the basement. It wasn't that deep, dug out for someone maybe a little taller than him, and he could climb back up without the need for a ladder, which was good but also made sense as a hidden room. The ladder would be an issue coming and going, so making it not require one was probably good thinking on Bud's part.

Brian reached up along the ceiling as he took a couple steps in, and his hand hit a bulb with a pull string. He doubted that was up to code, but he didn't care so long as he had light. He'd worry about the place burning down later.

He wasn't usually a man for swearing, but what he saw when he got the light was enough to make him do it and then some. He didn't want to think about the things he saw along the far wall, weapons he was sure would have been used against the boys if Bud was here. Worse, though, was that neither of the figures tied to the support beams was moving.

Brian knew that he'd be followed down any second now, so he went against his own judgment and grabbed a blade from the ones along the wall. He brought it back to the pillar and cut down the closer boy. JD slumped forward, and Brian winced as he dropped the blade, checking for a pulse.

_Don't be dead. Don't be dead._

JD was still breathing, and that was all Brian needed to start moving again. He picked the boy up and carried him over to the entrance.

“Here,” he said to his wife. “Take him.”

Marla did, with help from Veronica who'd rushed over as soon as Brian spoke. She had tears in her eyes as she started begging JD to wake up. Brian was grateful for any reason not to watch that, though Mark's silence through it all had him worried, and soon there would be more tears—Marla's, and he could never take hers well.

He went back to where he'd left the knife and picked it up, taking it back to the other pillar. He cut Mark down, this time prepared for him falling forward. He didn't wait to check his pulse, either, just carried him back to where the others were waiting.

“I've got Mark,” he said, and Marla came back to the hole, helping to lift the boy out. She and Nora moved him away from the door. His wife came back to help him up, and Brian sat at the edge, looking over the room with fear.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” Marla said. “I'm not a doctor, and both of them probably need surgery. I'm thinking it's the wound—wounds—I think he was hit several times there—that's why JD's unconscious. It could be very bad, though I don't like the look of the bruises, either. Several of them could mean internal bleeding.”

And Marla hadn't even looked at Mark yet.

* * *

The drive back into town was one of the longest of Veronica's life. They had the station wagon, so it wasn't like they didn't have space to lay the boys out and even to be near them as Mr. Hunter broke every speed limit and traffic law on the way into town, but that didn't mean much when Mrs. Hunter, the nurse, could do so little for either of them.

They were breathing, so there was hope, but she knew head wounds were bad, and they might not wake up again, ever. That couldn't happen. She'd just found JD, and he was... everything. She didn't understand it, but she knew he meant more to her than anyone else had, maybe even than they ever could.

She couldn't lose him now. JD deserved better than this. He was supposed to be free of his father. He should be. He'd just found Mark, he could have a good home and parents that would love him, and he had the other girls, too, as friends and maybe sisters in a sense. Things could be so good for him here.

If not for Bud Dean.

Veronica sighed. She hoped they hadn't let him go from the police station yet. She'd have to assume that even if the boys never woke up and never said anything about who hurt them, finding them in Bud's cabin would be enough.

He had to pay for what he'd done. He had to. He couldn't get away with this.

She leaned down near JD's ear again. “I know I already said this, and I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm saying it again anyway. You can't die on me. You can't leave. You just got free, really free, and there's so much we could do together... We can have a life, you know... grow up, be adults... die... We'll do stupid stuff like bowling and cooking and we'll think about kids and stuff... we might get a mortgage and stuff... if we want... or we'll just go around traveling the world... I want to do so many things with you... and you could... you're free now. I know it seems like it's too soon to say that, but you are. Your father won't get you back again, ever. He can't. He's been caught this time. We all know what he did. And you weren't alone back there... and the call to nine-one-one... Please, JD. You can't go when you're finally free. I love you.”

She felt Mrs. Hunter put a hand on her back, trying to comfort her, but she couldn't look back at her, couldn't take her eyes off JD, needing to watch his chest for that rise and fall that said he was still breathing.

She didn't know what else to do.

She pressed her lips to the part of JD's head that wasn't battered, trying to tell herself that love was enough. JD would live through this. He had to. They had everything to live for right now. Yeah, sure, it didn't seem like it after this thing with his dad, but they could prove it now, that Bud was scum, and he'd get arrested. It would be on his record, and he'd never be able to deny it again. JD could get a restraining order.

He could finish school here, with his brother, and he'd live with the Hunters who should have been able to adopt him in the first place, and it would be good. Very good.

He couldn't die before he got that, he just couldn't.

* * *

“Mr. Hunter?”

Brian looked over, admittedly disappointed to realize that the man asking for him was not, in fact, either boy's doctor but the detective. He supposed they were all for it now, though he'd take full responsibility for their actions, hoping it was enough for Marla to stay with the girls as she had already been doing.

He was reminded again of how strong she was—he'd thought this would break her, and it well might, if they lost either of the boys, but for now, she was calm and clear and holding everyone else together.

“Yes, Detective?”

“I understand you found your son and his brother.”

Brian nodded, dusting some of the dirt off his arm again. “The girls found a lease for that cabin in Bud Dean's things, and they were determined to go there on their own. My wife and I went with them. It was my intention to keep them out of trouble, but I admit... we did trespass. The glass on the front door was broken to enter the building, and we had to push a counter out of the way to reach the trap door to the underground room where the boys were being held. They were both unconscious when I found them, tied to support beams underneath the cabin.”

Rhodes grimaced. “And since then, did either of them wake and tell you what happened?”

Brian shook his head. “No. The doctors took them up to surgery, and we've been waiting for word.”

“Surgery?”

Brian nodded. “Internal bleeding... and swelling in the brain. They're more worried about JD as the... the history of abuse means he's probably had more concussions and that kind of repetitive damage...”

“But both of them were unconscious.”

“Yes,” Brian said, and that part worried him more than anything, since there seemed less reason for Mark to be out, though he was injured. And someone was awake when they got there, weren't they? Someone had made that noise.

Rhodes sighed. “I won't lie to you—right now the case against Bud Dean is pretty thin. We have voices on that nine-one-one call, but as your son and his brother sound alike, we can't prove which of them is which. We have trespassing in three places—his house, his job site, and the cabin. A good lawyer will claim this was a set up.”

“And, what? The boys beat each other up to trap Bud Dean? No. Not Mark. He's not capable of that kind of violence.”

“And Jason?”

“He has been in at least one fight to my knowledge, but I don't believe he's capable of hurting his brother like that. You haven't met him, Detective, but I swear... there were a couple times where I thought he'd go after me for upsetting Mark. And I know that's not what I should say, either, since it makes him seem violent, but he didn't hit me. He just... he looked at me like he would have if I'd gone a step further. He's... protective. I don't believe that he could have hurt Mark any more than Mark could have hurt him.”

“I find it hard to believe the kids would do this, either, but we've had a lot of strange things happening lately, and the timing of this—”

“I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been at the station to suggest to your boss that all of you back off on that dj,” Brian admitted, not wanting to think about it. “You are still going to arrest the man, aren't you?”

“We're holding him on what we have from the call.”

Brian winced. He knew it was worse than what he'd heard, but that confirmed it. He let out a breath. “There is... one other issue I should probably inform you of...”

“Oh?”

“I—we—my wife and I—allowed the hospital to think that we were the legal guardians of both boys, not just Mark. I was afraid if JD didn't get treatment immediately, he'd die, and there was another part of me that was afraid if we left it up to Bud Dean—”

“I understand. I don't think that's worth pressing charges over, and I'm pretty sure most of those trespassing ones will be dropped under the circumstances. I will need to speak to the boys as soon as either of them wakes, though.”

“We'll let you know if the hospital doesn't do it first,” Brian promised. “Thank you.”

Rhodes grimaced. “I think you might look into a lawyer as well. Get temporary custody of JD if you can—and at the very least, a restraining order to keep Bud from your son. Both of them would be better, but as long as Bud is JD's legal guardian...”

Brian nodded. He'd make the call in a minute. “Thank you again.”

* * *

“This doesn't look good,” Veronica said, and Nora glanced toward the Hunters and the man who'd shown up about a half hour after the detective had left. Since he hadn't dragged them off with him, she assumed that they weren't going to be arrested, at least not until after the boys were out of danger.

Not that it made waiting any easier. It didn't.

“He's that lawyer from the back of the yellow pages. His specialty is family law,” Nora said, and Veronica frowned at her. She shrugged. “I volunteer at the library, remember? I see the phone books a lot. They get borrowed at least once a shift, if not more. I've seen his face more times than I want to think about.”

“Family law.”

Nora nodded. “Custody and divorce and—”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it's probably about JD and seeing if they can get custody for real. Everyone thinks they have it here, since they're Mark's parents, but they've got JD down as JD Hunter, not Jason Dean. That might be a problem later.”

Veronica leaned back against the wall. “How are you even halfway calm? Do you not care about Mark or what?”

Nora flinched. “It's not that. I... I mean... I couldn't say half the stuff I would have said to him in the car like you did because I can't talk about Hard Harry in front of his parents. It's not that I don't want to say stuff. I just... can't.”

Veronica winced. “If he doesn't go on tonight—”

“That's the other thing. I've been trying to figure out what to do. I don't know that the voice distorter would be enough to make either of us sound close to Mark or JD when they do it. But I have almost every show of his taped, and I could put together a... fake broadcast. I was trying to pull together pieces from the old shows that would make it seem like he was really there even if he's not and I'd be switching through a lot of tapes to do it.”

Veronica stared at her. “That's brilliant.”

Nora tried to smile and couldn't. “I just... I had to do something, you know? This was the only way I knew of that I could help.”

“It's a good thing, trust me. They'll need it.”

“The only problem is that it'll take a while to put together. Ideally, I'd just record it from one tape to another to play in one continuous set, but I don't think I'll have time. It's already late, and I'd still have to get home, get the tapes, and get to Mark's... and how do I leave when they're still in surgery?”

Veronica sighed. “I don't know. I know I can't, but then JD has only stepped in for Mark a few times. Mark is Harry.”

Nora eyed the Hunters again. “I don't want to go until he's awake, but I also can't let him be exposed because of this. Then Bud wins, even if he doesn't know it.”

“I'll do what I can to cover for you.”

Nora gave her a grateful smile. She started to rise, and then a doctor in operating scrubs came up them, standing a little ways from where they were sitting. 

“Mr. Hunter?” 

He turned. “Yes?”

“Your son's out of surgery. We've moved him to the ICU.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wait at the hospital continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard to find a way to work on this after the weekend. Sunday hit hard, and I'm still reeling. Work has not helped, either, and I haven't been sleeping, which... is not great for writing in any way except I made a new AU... not that I needed another.
> 
> Still, hopefully this works and kind of rounds out this part.

* * *

“It's harder to tell them apart now,” Veronica said, biting her lip as she looked at the two beds. She'd been half-afraid when she got up here that it would be Mark only, and she'd be stuck trying to be calm all over again when every part of her was freaking out about JD still being in surgery. She kept thinking the longer it took the worse it must be, and she had a hard time sitting still in the waiting room. She wanted to be where she could at least _see_ him.

And now she could, but she didn't feel much better.

“Yeah, with the bandages over their hair—what's left of it, anyway—they look even more identical,” Nora said. She bit her lip again, and Veronica knew she was feeling guilty about leaving, even if it was to protect Mark.

“He's out of surgery,” Veronica reminded her gently. Sure, out of surgery wasn't the same as awake and talking and maybe even flirting to know he was okay—well, that last one was more JD than his brother—but it was something. She was just glad they weren't still operating. It had been a relief to come up and find them bringing JD in to join Mark.

“I know. Would you tell the Hunters I had to go home? Just... my parents were willing to let me stay until he was out of the woods and then... wanted me home or something stupid like that.”

Veronica nodded. She didn't know that they'd ask her about it, not for the reasons anyway, since they'd be pretty distracted. The doctors were talking to them now, had been for a while, and she was trying not to worry about that now, too.

“You are helping him. And if he was awake and you told him about it, he'd want you to do it,” Veronica told her. “I'm sure of that. He doesn't seem to want anyone knowing.”

“There are good reasons for that.”

“So go already,” Veronica told her. “Otherwise you won't have enough time to put together the tapes. You know it's going to be tough as it is. You don't have time to record it all, and you'll have to be finding the right spot on the tape while playing music or something.”

“I know,” Nora said. She grimaced. “I just...”

“Mark knows you like him for him and not just because of... that,” Veronica said, not wanting to actually say that he was Hard Harry in case someone heard them. The Hunters or a nurse could walk in at any moment.

“Okay. I'm going.”

Veronica nodded, passing her the keys. Mr. Hunter had given them back to her while they were waiting, and she figured Nora needed to hurry as much as possible.

The other girl stopped, leaning over the bed to kiss Mark's cheek. “Don't do anything stupid like die on me while I'm gone, okay? I'd have to hunt you down in the afterlife or something. Um...”

Veronica had similar thoughts about JD, though she was able to hold his hand now, and that helped some. She didn't have to leave him, though she was sure her parents would want that.

Nora stepped back, still reluctant to leave. “You know, I have this weird feeling they're going to wake up at the same time. It would be all creepy, but somehow...”

“Fitting?” Veronica finished for her, and Nora nodded. Veronica supposed that was true. She felt like it made sense for that to happen, though she'd rather they woke separately if it meant either of them would wake sooner. She would rather JD woke before Mark, but that was pretty selfish of her.

She gave his hand another squeeze, hoping it wouldn't be much longer before he woke.

* * *

“I swear, my parents will kill me if they ever find out about this,” Betty said, and Martha gave her a look of pity. She didn't know that her parents would be any better, but she wasn't as worried as she should have been.

She knew they'd be upset about the suspension, and they'd be even more upset about the arrest, but then the detective had let them go. She didn't think he'd called any of their parents, though she couldn't be sure. At least no one had stopped them from coming to the hospital. She wanted to find out how the boys were.

“Oh, please,” Heather said. “We're not under arrest, and even if we were, they'd never make it stick. The door was open. We all walked right in.”

“It's still considered trespassing,” McNamara said. “Um... I think.”

Duke sighed. “I can't believe I miss having the trench coat around. Or Veronica. Someone around here needs a damned spine.”

“Heather,” Martha said, feeling hurt again, though she knew that the other girl had a tendency to lash out when she was feeling stressed. She could be mean sometimes when she was trying to protect herself. “You don't have to be like that.”

“Yeah,” McNamara said. “Let's just find a doctor and see if they'll tell us anything about JD and Mark.”

“There,” Betty said, marching bravely up to the nurse's station. Heather seemed surprised to see her do it, but Martha wasn't. Betty might shy away at first, but she was stronger than she thought, just like they all were. Nora would have said that if she was here.

“We're looking for Mark Hunter and JD—what is his name?” Paige asked, frowning. “All I know is JD, and his last name has to be—”

“I'm afraid it's against hospital policy to give out information on our patients.”

“Are they here? We're their friends, and we've been worried about them. If Veronica or Nora or Mark's parents are here—”

“I wouldn't know that, and all of you should go home.”

“We're not going until we know how they are,” Heather said. “So you can either find out for us, or we'll do it ourselves.”

Betty's eyes widened at that. Martha had to smile. Sometimes she was just flat out amazed by how tough Heather could be, but then that was part of why they were friends... back when they were friends.

“Our friends were kidnapped and beaten,” McNamara added. “We need to know where they are and how they are. Wouldn't you need to know, too? I mean, if it's against some rule, then... find a way to tell us that's not. I don't think Mark's parents would have left him, and I know Veronica wouldn't have left JD, so all you have to do is have them paged to tell us.”

“She's right. That would work,” Heather said. “Or we can go searching each room until we find them, and it shouldn't be too hard as they're twins and all, but it could take a while, we'll disturb patients, interrupt doctors and nurses, and security will try and force us out, which would mean a small riot and really, it's just better if you get someone to tell us.”

She smiled at the end of her speech, and the nurse frowned. She lifted up the phone and spoke into it. “You have someone named Hunter up there? He's got visitors down here—I know what the hours are. Just tell the parents his friends are here. Yeah, I'm making that call next.”

A blinking light came on the board, and the nurse sighed, setting the phone back down. “I have to check on a patient. They said they'd inform the parents. Stay here.”

Heather watched her go, arms folded over her chest. “Either she called security or she's planning on doing it where we can't hear her.”

“So, what now? We don't know where they are.”

“Pretty good bet they're in the ICU,” Paige said. “Let's start there.”

* * *

The elevator ride up was easy enough, if a bit tense and crowded, but they made it. The ICU was on the fourth floor, for whatever reason, and they'd found it easily enough. It was more difficult sneaking around and trying to find the boys without getting caught, and Betty swore they would every time they passed by a doorway, but it didn't happen.

Still, she'd been so anxious she almost missed it.

“Veronica?”

Betty edged forward, hoping she wasn't going to end up hurting anyone or anything. She was very nervous here in the hospital, but she wanted to know how everyone was. She wouldn't forgive herself for chickening out and leaving now.

Even if she was afraid of bumping one of the machines and killing someone.

Veronica looked up, swallowing. “Oh. I'm sorry. I meant to call... not that you were home... I don't... the detective came by earlier... but they were still in surgery...”

“Surgery?” Duke asked, sounding almost worried, which Betty thought was a little weird because she didn't even like JD, or not very much, or so it seemed. “They were... How bad?”

“Internal bleeding... and swelling in the brain...” Veronica closed her eyes, wrapping another hand around JD's that she was already holding. “They were so... still when Mr. Hunter found them. If they hadn't been breathing... I would have thought they were dead. And I keep looking at them and thinking... but they're still here.”

Betty winced, going over to give Veronica a hug. “Where is everyone?”

“Nora had to go home,” Veronica said. “The Hunters are talking with their lawyer again. They... it's a mess, trying to get temporary custody of JD. It might be easier if either of them had woken up and said this was all Bud's doing because they'd have to strip custody from him, but since they haven't...”

“Is that normal?” Martha asked. “Should they be awake by now?”

Veronica sighed. “I don't know. Not exactly. The doctors didn't tell me much, and so I only get what the Hunters are able to tell me. It's... I don't think they could really operate on their brains without putting them under anesthesia, just in case, so... it could be drugs... it could be more.”

“Wow, Veronica, your boyfriend really is brain-damaged.”

“Heather!” McNamara said, reaching over to hit her without realizing what she'd done. “How can you say that? It's so wrong. Look at them. They're hurt. Poor babies.”

Betty thought the boys did look pretty pathetic right now, covered in bandages and hooked up to a lot of machines. She wouldn't have known which of them was which if Veronica wasn't holding JD's hand.

“They are going to make it, right?” Paige asked, worried. “I mean... they came out of surgery, so... That's something, isn't it?”

“I don't know. I'd feel a lot better if they'd wake up,” Veronica said. “I don't know if the drugs are still keeping them under or if it's something else... I'm just so worried...”

“We're all worried.” 

“And probably going to get kicked out by security,” Duke said. She grimaced. “They can't actually die, can they? I mean, I know we thought that Heather Chandler was too strong and too much of a bitch to die, but the boys... they just... they can't.”

* * *

Nora felt like she'd be arrested on the spot, coming back to the hospital. She could count the number of things she'd done against the law or common sense or even her own sense of right, and they were all stacked against her as she made her way inside. She slipped past the empty front desk and to the elevators, taking the first one up.

She couldn't believe she'd done that, broken into Mark's house—the boys had locked up after themselves, so she'd had to improvise to get in to Mark's equipment—and faked a broadcast for him. A part of her was excited, charged with excitement over the thrill of something like that.

The rest of her was worn out and ashamed and wishing she had no reason to do it at all.

And she still felt guilty as hell for leaving him in the first place, even if keeping Harry's real identity a secret was necessary.

She shook her head at herself as she stepped out of the elevator. She couldn't believe she was trying to justify that. It wasn't right, even if Harry was so much bigger than Mark, if he mattered to too many people to have the illusion shattered.

Not that there was anything wrong with Mark being Mark, there wasn't, but Paige had a point when she said that people wouldn't want him to be what he was. Harry was something above them, better than them, not shy like Mark, not with a semi-privileged—in comparison to his own brother, even—background with good parents and decent grades. They all had images of who Harry was, and no one wanted the reality.

She did, but she hadn't been sure of that herself, not at first, and she doubted the other kids were as willing to stick it out long enough to realize that about themselves.

She forced herself out of the elevator and back to Mark's room. Somehow it had gotten very crowded since she left, but no one seemed to mind, even though she swore on the doctor shows they were always harping on rules about patients, visiting hours, and how many people were in the room.

“Nora,” Veronica said, noticing her before any of the others did. “You're back.”

Nora forced a smile despite the awkwardness and the obviousness of that statement. “Yeah, I... I kind of snuck back.”

“While I'm sure your parents probably won't be happy to know that, I think Mark would be glad to know you're here,” Mrs. Hunter said, looking up from her son's beside. “That all of you are here, actually. I'm still not sure what convinced them to allow this.”

“The riot at the police station?” Duke suggested. “After all, Paige is pretty recognizable.”

The other girl flushed behind her bandages. “I'm not sure I know why I'm here, other than to piss off my dad. I don't even know you that well.”

“It doesn't matter,” McNamara said. “We adopted you anyway.”

Nora smiled faintly at that. She swallowed and made herself take the last few steps to Mark's side, picking up his hand like Veronica had JD's. She leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“I think it worked. I hope it did. I played a lot of music and used tapes where you didn't discuss anything they'd recognize but still kind of sounded like it applied to the riot and everything,” she whispered, keeping her voice as low as possible. Then she raised it for the last part. “And I'm back, so you can wake up any time now.”

The others let out some uneasy laughs as he did nothing of the sort. Nora sighed, settling in for a long, uncomfortable night since there wasn't a way to sit and have Mark's hand, and she didn't want to let go. She hadn't wanted to leave earlier, and she had to make up for that somehow.

Betty pushed over the chair she'd been sitting in. “Here. I can sit on the floor.”

“Thanks,” Nora said, taking the seat with relief and resting her head near Mark's. She was so tired. This day had been a lot longer than she'd thought it would be, and that couch of Mark's was not the best place to sleep. Her neck was killing her.

She closed her eyes, listening to the machines and Mark's steady breathing, not sure what else to do. Sure, all of them had to be wishing they could just shake the boys awake and make them talk again so they knew they were going to make it, but it didn't work like that.

She sighed and wondered if she was actually tired enough to sleep here, like this. She'd be next to Mark at least.

“JD?”

“Shut... up... Mark... trying... sleep.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery in the hospital continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of interesting reaching this part of the story. The hard part is over... except ending, which is harder and definitely bittersweet. This chapter ended up pretty quiet, but that's a good thing, I think. Everyone needs time to recover.

* * *

“You're awake.”

Veronica's voice sounded strange, and JD wanted to tease her about it, but his head felt all weird, full and funny, and he couldn't find words. He was tired, and he could sleep for days. The room was dark, and sleep was good.

Hmm. He liked sleeping with Veronica better. It was good to have her next to him. She smelled nice, and she was warm, and he could hold her like he hadn't held anyone since Bud destroyed his teddy bear when he was four. He still missed that thing, though he should have learned from it. Anything Bud could hurt of his, he had.

“We were so worried about you,” someone else said, and JD didn't think he knew the voice. Or did he? He was too tired to think. “Both of you.”

“Lot of people here for a dream,” JD muttered, cracking open an eye and shutting it again when he saw the crowd. He was thinking he'd like a good dream of Veronica before he died. “Should be just you and me, Ronnie.”

“Oh, please, spare us,” someone who sounded kind of like that annoying Heather said. What was Duke doing here ruining his dream?

“JD,” Mark said. “Not sure... dream... less... hallucinating same thing.”

JD thought maybe they could have been, since they'd been locked up in some dark basement and sure they were going to die. Bud had done plenty of damage, and no one knew where they were, not that Bud would let them. He wanted to hurt them, kill them, and he would.

“You're awake,” Veronica said, then grimaced. “Well, kind of. You seem a little confused. You're in the hospital. We found you and got you to the doctors and they had to operate and—”

“No.” JD shook his head, regretting it when everything went fuzzy again and started to hurt. “Not hospital.”

“Yes, hospital. You are in the hospital. Both of you are. Martha found a lease for a cabin in your dad's papers at his house, and we left the police station to find you. He'd made some kind of room in the basement, and that's where you were,” Nora said, sounding a lot calmer than she should be. “Your dad got you out, drove you here, and they did have to operate on both of you. You didn't wake up for any of it. Neither of you did.”

“Huh.”

“Guess... sense...” Mark said. “Remember... talking... story about... your mom... then... nothing.”

JD frowned. “I didn't tell you about... my mom. I don't... talk about her.”

“Thought... dying... so...”

JD grimaced. “Shut up, Mark.”

“Am tired,” his brother said. “Can sleep now? It's safe?”

“It's safe,” his parents told him, and Mark blinked, looking confused to see them there. His mother took the hand Nora didn't have, wrapping it in her own.

“It is,” Veronica said, giving JD's cheek a kiss. “He's at the police station, and even if they let him go, none of us would let him get to you.”

“Think he was talking... about concussion, but okay,” JD whispered, glad to close his eyes again. He still wanted to dream of Veronica, but it was too public, and he wasn't sure he'd dream at all, which was fine. He was tired, and he really hoped they weren't lying about his dad being arrested.

He supposed it was a nice enough dream, too, and he'd take it for what it was.

Even if it would hurt when he woke and found it wasn't real.

Again.

* * *

“How are they doing?”

“Better,” Brian answered, looking at the detective, who looked even more ragged than he felt, which was something, considering what had happened to his son and the agony of waiting so long to know if either boy was going to make it. “They're just asleep now. The doctor assured us neither of them is in a coma. We sent the other girls home, but these two couldn't be budged.”

Marla smiled a little, combing through Veronica's hair as she slept. She'd probably consider the girl their future daughter-in-law, assuming that they were able to gain custody of JD. The lawyer was optimistic, seeing as they already had custody of Mark as well as a comfortable financial situation. Brian was less sure, but he hoped it would go through, even if JD was bound to be a more than a little trouble for them.

His wife was right. It was impossible to separate them now, that would be too cruel, and neither boy would accept it. He supposed they could argue that for the court—JD was likely to run if he was placed anywhere else, and if JD left, Mark might, too.

And Veronica almost certainly would. Nora was right about them. They were a bit too close.

“I do need to interview them,” Rhodes said, looking from JD to Mark and frowning. He didn't know which of them was which. “Wow. That's... they're definitely twins.”

Brian nodded. “It's more obvious now, not that it wasn't before, but with the bandages and without their clothes to distinguish them... yeah, it's something.”

“And they didn't tell you about this?”

Brian shook his head. “No. We can only assume that the agency wanted more money for them and arranged the adoptions separately so that they could collect fees from two sets of parents instead of one.”

Rhodes grunted. “If that's the case, there could be another one of them out there.”

Brian had already asked the lawyer about getting Mark's original birth certificate, and the man seemed to think they had a strong case for unsealing the records considering that Mark had a twin. “We're looking into that as well. I suppose if the doctors say it's safe, we can wake them.”

“I don't want to force it, but I need them to tell me it was definitely Bud Dean that took them if I'm going to be able to arrest him and keep him locked up. He's already kicking up a fuss, and his lawyer is on his way.”

Marla sighed, unhappy but resigned. “Go ahead and wake them. It should be fine. Um... why don't you wake Mark first? He was... his injuries were slightly less severe, and his girlfriend is a little more... practical.”

Rhodes frowned, and Brian leaned over to explain. “Veronica may be a little... overprotective of JD. Nora is concerned, but not likely to get violent.”

Marla forced a smile. “Young love.”

Rhodes didn't seem too comfortable with that. Brian supposed they shouldn't have said anything, but if Rhodes had gone for JD, who was closer to him, he'd have disturbed Veronica, and that had not been pleasant earlier.

Brian reached over and touched his son's arm, careful to keep to where there were no bruises. “Mark? Mark, wake up, please. The detective is here. He needs to ask you a few questions.”

Mark stirred slowly, grimacing and blinking a few times before he focused on Brian. “Dad?”

“Detective Rhodes needs to ask you about what happened.”

Mark groaned. “Now?”

“I'm afraid so, son,” Rhodes said. “We've got a suspect in custody, but unless you can tell me who did this, I'm going to have to let him go.”

“Bud Dean,” Mark said. “Was... JD's father...”

“You're sure of this?”

Mark nodded. “Never met him before... but JD knew him... and he talked like... he said he was... he was... he said stuff.... did stuff... sure it was him...”

“Said stuff?”

“About JD, about... me. He... he was going to make up for seventeen years...”

“Seventeen years?”

“The boys are seventeen,” Brian told the policeman, who winced.

“He told you that he planned on making you suffer for seventeen years of not having you to beat on?” Rhodes asked, looking a bit horrified. “The hell is wrong with parents in this town?”

“I assume you mean Mr. Chandler,” Brian said, choosing not to be offended by the remark as the other man was obviously tired and didn't realize he was being insulting. 

The detective nodded, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. We never used to have this sort of thing around here, and all of a sudden... twice in one day...”

“You mean... you didn't know,” Mark corrected. “Was still here... just... you didn't see it. Festering... under surface... only looks perfect... really isn't...”

Brian frowned. He swore he'd heard that before, but he was also too tired to know where it had come from. “Do you need more from Mark now?”

“Going to need a formal statement, but we can get it later,” Rhodes said. “I just needed enough to hold Dean on. I'll let them know to book him and come back when we've all had a chance to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Brian told him. Bud Dean would be locked up, and the boys would be safe. Maybe now they really could rest.

* * *

“Your parents are going to be pissed, you know,” Duke observed as she sat back down in the empty chair. Mrs. Hunter had made her husband go home with her so they could both shower and have a short nap, though only after Veronica refused to leave, again.

She knew that if she even considered going home, her parents might well lock her up after this, and she refused to be kept from JD's side. It didn't matter if the girls were here or the Hunters. There were only two people in this room that JD would believe actually cared about him and were here because of him—her and Mark.

And Mark was asleep again.

“I know, but I'm not leaving JD,” Veronica said, running her fingers over his hand again. “He needs me.”

“Your relationship is not healthy,” Duke said. “And I'm not just saying that because you two can't keep your hands off each other.”

“Oh, leave them alone,” Paige said, and Veronica wondered when Miss Perfect had decided to start standing up for her, but McNamara was smiling, so maybe she had something to do with it.

“I suppose you think the bad boy thing is appealing, too,” Duke muttered, shaking her head. “Veronica and Nora I can almost understand, but you and Mazz? That's just wrong.”

“You don't have to be so mean all the time,” Martha told her. “And he seemed kind of nice when we met him just now, asking about JD and Mark. I didn't even think he knew them.”

“He doesn't,” Betty said. She fidgeted. “It was on the news, though. My parents wanted to know if I knew about it, and I had to explain that I did because JD is dating Veronica and Mark Nora and we're all sort of friends.”

“How bad was the news?” Veronica asked. They hadn't seen any of it, since they'd been in here with Mark and JD and the Hunters hadn't wanted the television on.

“Bunch of bullshit about how the town's gone to hell because of how fucked up Chandler and Dean are,” Duke said, taking out an emery board and filing her nails. “They really refuse to see it, that it was always like this. It's just that first Harry and then JD and Mark made them see it.”

Veronica grimaced. “Idiots.”

“There's still a chance that maybe more people might see it... or other kids could come forward for help,” McNamara said. “They might have been too scared before because this town does pretend all that stuff doesn't happen, but if they had help... Maybe they'd do something about it. Like me dumping Ram because I had help from all of you.”

Veronica gave her a tired smile. She was glad that McNamara had done it, gotten rid of Ram. She was way too good for him. “Yeah.”

JD tried to roll over. “Too loud.”

“Sorry,” Veronica told him, reaching over to touch his cheek. “You need us to leave so you can go back to sleep?”

“Don't go,” he whispered, giving her hand a weak squeeze. “Need you.”

She smiled at him. Things weren't perfect, he was still in the hospital, but she felt like they'd be a lot better from now on. JD could stay, he'd have a chance to do build a life for himself—he had a job and he could finish school, maybe do college. He'd have his brother, and they'd never get separated again. They could have a real future.

She wanted that more than she could say.

* * *

“Something wrong?” Nora asked, watching Mark. He'd seemed a bit tense since he woke up again, and she didn't know what to think. He had to know that Bud Dean wasn't getting in here. Before the Hunters left, they'd said the police had arrested him, so it wasn't like he was going to be free to terrorize them again.

He looked over at the other girls and shook his head.

Nora smiled, understanding, and leaned down into his ear. “I told you last night, but I covered it. I put together a broadcast using the tapes I had... it wasn't great, but it should keep anyone from realizing that you were in the hospital all night.”

He managed a small smile, relieved. “Thank you.”

“You owe me,” she told him, “and next time you think you're going off on your own with your brother, you can just... think again because it's not happening.”

Mark snorted. “Not planning on... anything of the sort. Didn't even mean to do it this time... We saw he was at the house, so we left. We didn't go near it. We went to the on-site office to look for anything we could find, and we were leaving when he... caught us. He shouldn't even have known we were there. Wasn't... tried to be careful... He... he was just... there.... and he he used me to make JD do what he wanted... at first... then...”

Nora flinched. She didn't know that she wanted to hear any more, and she didn't know how to help or what to do. He should never have been in that position, and she wanted to be mad at him for being there at all, but it wasn't like she wouldn't have done the same for him if he were in JD's place, and he wasn't her brother.

“Oh, Mark, that's horrible,” McNamara said. “I'd hug you, but you're all bandaged up, and I don't want to hurt you.”

He gave her a weak smile. “Um... thanks.”

McNamara smiled back. “I've decided that you two aren't the only ones adopted. I mean, you're like brothers to us now, too—except for Veronica and Nora 'cause that's just gross—but Paige is, Martha is, Betty is, Nora is, Veronica is, and Heather is. We're family now.”

Mark frowned. Nora knew it was weird going from being an only child to being surrounded by family, but it wasn't all bad. They could all use people to talk to and support. Maybe if Malcolm had this, he wouldn't have tried to kill himself. Maybe if Heather Chandler had seen her friends for what they were and not just things to be used, she'd still be alive.

“You're sweet, Heather,” Nora told her, and McNamara beamed at her. Duke rolled her eyes, but Martha gave her a shove, and she stopped with a frown.

Mark reached for Nora's shirt, pulling her close to him again.

“Not the kissing again.”

“That's JD and Veronica, and don't give them any ideas.”

Nora felt herself flush even as she knew she wouldn't mind a kiss from him. His breath was hot against her cheek and she licked her lips.

“Tapes won't work twice.”

She almost rolled her eyes. Really? That was what he was thinking about when they were like this? She should smack him, though she knew that was probably just that worrywart side of him showing itself again. He wouldn't be able to relax until he knew they had a plan to deal with the broadcast.

“We could prerecord something,” Nora told him. “The voice modifier is in the car, so we'll just have to get a few minutes alone.”

“Okay. Wait... how?”

“We'll think of something,” she told him. “You just rest.”

He nodded, and then he _did_ kiss her, and she couldn't help the bit of thrill that went through her because every other time they'd touched, she'd started it, but this he'd done himself, and that made it special and that much nicer.

She could almost forget that they were in the hospital and really believe that everything was going to be okay now.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some drama unfolds in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I narrowed down what needs to happen in this story to give it a wrap up as a few minor plot points. This was one of them, so I figured it should be addressed first, and the others can kind of go in an epilogue when they bring the boys home from the hospital.
> 
> Maybe?

* * *

“This is kind of boring,” Duke observed, not looking up from her book. “Are they going to sleep all day?”

“Um... they had surgery and are pretty heavily drugged, so probably,” Paige said, frowning at her. She didn't understand that girl, though with the way the others let some of her remarks pass, either she didn't mean them all or she had some redeeming qualities somewhere. Paige hadn't seen much of them, though she did remember Duke being meeker when Chandler was alive.

“Do you need us to wake them up so you can know they're okay?” Nora asked. She didn't look like she had any intention of waking her boyfriend at all, not that Paige could blame her. The boys had been through a lot, and while she hadn't planned on spending all day at the hospital, she didn't know that she felt like she could leave, either.

“Duke's so cute when she's worried,” Veronica said, and Duke flipped her off. Veronica shrugged, stifling a yawn and grimacing as she did. “Ugh, I'm getting kind of ripe.”

“Why do you think we're all sitting over here?” Duke asked with a thin smile.

Veronica flipped her off then, sighing as she did. She looked back at JD, and Paige found herself wondering just how she'd managed to fall so fast for that guy. He'd been introduced to their class only a week ago, and this did seem kind of sudden.

“We could go down to the gift shop and see if there's a t-shirt or something there,” Martha offered. “Maybe that would help?”

“It'll be hideous,” Duke said, but Veronica nodded, looking like she'd take just about anything so long as she could stay here with JD.

Betty gave Veronica another smile and left with Martha and McNamara. Duke didn't bother to move, and Paige figured three of them in the gift shop was plenty, not that she wanted to move around a lot as everyone in the hospital assumed she was a loose patient, even without the gown, since she had the bandage on her nose.

Nora rubbed her neck. “This is definitely not the most comfortable place to stay.”

“You could go home,” Mrs. Hunter said, giving both of the girls a tired smile. “They'll still be here when you get back.”

“I'm not going to leave,” Veronica said. She winced. “Honestly, my parents won't be happy about that, but I feel like I need to be here, and what if I did go and something went wrong?”

Duke lifted her head up. “That's a good point, you know. None of us covered for you last night. They could be freaking out right about now.”

Veronica ran her fingers over the back of JD's hand. “I can't go. I'll explain it to them later.”

“That's going to bite you in the ass.”

“Heather,” Mr. Hunter said in a teacher voice. “Language.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hunter,” she said, about to look down at her book and then frowning. “You never did reinstate us, though I suppose we missed all those days of our suspension anyway.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Well, things have been a bit crazy since I agreed to look into it. Yesterday seemed to be non-stop. I had just figured out the solution the dj problem—”

“Harry is not a problem,” Paige said. “He's the solution. Or part of it. We needed him to tell people about how wrong everything was. Most of us would still be pretending we were okay instead of admitting any of this. Heather's dad would have gotten away with killing her. And a lot of other bad stuff would still be going on, even if he didn't know to do anything about what happened to your son.”

Mr. Hunter smiled, still looking tired. “By problem, I meant the reaction of the community. People are always outraged and afraid of what they cannot control. Not that he wasn't breaking the law in broadcasting without a license, but I think if we gave him a radio show at the school he could still do what he has been for you kids—giving voice to your problems—legitimately.”

“You'd be policing his content, though. The school would never let him say half that stuff that he does,” Nora said with a frown. “I don't know if that's—what if someone wanted to talk about things like sex? Or drugs? Or... he'd never be able to do something like expose Heather's killer again.”

“There'd be limits,” Mrs. Hunter said, “and he'd have to agree to them, but as much as any parent might have qualms about their child being sexually active or taking drugs, it's still better to acknowledge the possibility instead of denying their very existence by refusing to let someone talk about them. I've been for better sex education since before I left school myself.”

Mr. Hunter nodded. “It's one of her many causes.”

“It is unacceptable that there is almost no information about sexual assault in any of those courses,” Mrs. Hunter said, and Paige could tell she felt strongly about this. “They're not just confusing the issue for some kids, who may not see what happened as an assault, but also they perpetuate horrible myths like women who are raped ask for it or that it never happens to boys.”

Duke snorted. “Like that little girl Chandler hurt asked for it.”

“Exactly my point,” Mrs. Hunter said. She caught her husband's look and stopped herself. “Still, I don't need to be on my soapbox. I think awareness is a powerful thing. The whole point of education is to enlighten, but how can you realistically do that when you're denying things that happen every day?”

“Like abuse,” Veronica said, and both the Hunters looked uncomfortable, though Mrs. Hunter gathered herself to address the implied accusation.

“We missed signs. People do, and sometimes we need someone to point them out to us,” she said. “And we weren't told. No one spoke of it to us. I'm sure other parents are in similar positions, not aware of bullying or abusive relationships because no one talk about them. I have to think that... well, that anything that helps bring that to light is good, and that is what Harry's show seems to do. I think Brian's idea of having him do that with some regulation is a good compromise.”

Nora looked at Veronica, who shrugged. “Well, that... it's good you agree on that.”

“What?”

“Oh, Veronica, look at what we found you,” McNamara said almost bouncing back in the doorway. “It's so perfect, isn't it?”

“Sherwood Community Hospital saved my life,” Mr. Hunter read off with a frown. “I'm not sure I understand. Were you treated here before?”

Veronica flushed. “Um. No. Heather is implying that by them saving JD, the hospital saved me. That... or it's blue, and that's my color. I... I think I'm going to go change.”

* * *

Nora settled back against Mark's bed. She wouldn't have thought that anything would make Veronica leave JD's side, but she'd been pretty flustered, and feeling dirty and gross wasn't appealing, either. She'd been able to change when she went home to grab the tapes for the show, but Veronica hadn't been that fortunate.

Or unfortunate, as Nora would argue that maybe Veronica was luckier, staying put and not trying to hobble together a convincing forgery of a broadcast. Nora hadn't heard anything about how successful it had been, but then all of the people she knew to talk about it with were all here last night, and no one had listened in.

At least Mr. Hunter had decided he wanted to keep Harry's show around, and Mrs. Hunter agreed. That was something, though Nora had to wonder if they'd change their minds if they knew that their son was the one behind it.

That was hard to know, though she hoped they'd be proud of him. Or at least that maybe the brush with death would get him a sort of pass.

The monitors started screaming, and Nora frowned, looking at Mark in confusion before realizing it was JD. He'd woken up but didn't seem to realize it, flailing out like he was fighting someone, and then when he stopped, he looked around in confusion that became panic as he tried to get out of his bed. The equipment attached to him and the bedsheets made a mess of that, dumping him out more than anything, and JD got stuck in them, whimpering against the floor.

“JD,” Mrs. Hunter said, going toward him, but he seemed to get worse, backing into the bed and almost sending it crashing into Mark's. Nora dodged out of the way, but the damage was still done. Mark woke with almost the same reaction as his brother.

“JD, please calm down,” Mrs. Hunter tried again, not moving, just talking to him. “You're safe. You're in the hospital. You're—”

“Not going back to the group home. Can't make me.”

“No one is making you go anywhere,” Mark said, crawling across the bed toward his brother. He fell off the other side, landing hard next to JD and pulling out his IV, spilling blood and more onto the floor. “I won't let them.”

JD stared at him, just stared, and Nora swore the whole room just sat there, holding their breath, until JD recognized him, and when he did, he trembled and put his head on Mark's shoulder. 

“She's gone. He killed her.”

“Your mom?”

“Veronica.”

Mark looked around in confusion. Nora swallowed. Talk about timing. Veronica really wouldn't leave the room after this.

“She's in the bathroom, sweetheart,” Mrs. Hunter said. “She'll be back soon. She's fine. I promise. You're not, and Mark isn't, but she is.”

“Poison... everyone I touch... everyone I care about... he hurts them...”

Mark sighed. “They arrested him, JD. He can't get at any of us again. He won't hurt Veronica. Or you. Or me. We're okay.”

JD didn't answer, just sat there, shaking next to his brother. Mark looked like he was about to fall over, and he shouldn't be supporting JD at all.

“Oh, God,” Veronica said, rushing back into the room. “What happened?”

JD lifted his head and looked at her. “You're really okay.”

“Yeah. I was just—”

“He... we were back in the basement... he made me watch... killed you...”

“No,” Veronica said, running to his side, wrapping her arms around him. “I'm here. You're safe. We're going to keep you that way.”

He said nothing, and Nora knew it was going to be a very, very long day.

* * *

“There you are,” Mrs. Sawyer said, and Veronica looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway with her father. Oh, this was the last thing she needed after the morning they'd had. None of them were recovered from JD's upset earlier, even if the boys were both now back under again after the doctors had looked them over.

She was pretty sure they'd upped the pain medication or sedated them, but she hadn't actually seen it happen, so she didn't know. She did think that was the only way they calmed JD after his nightmare and kicking everyone else out of the room.

At least the Hunters had insisted that Veronica stay, same with Nora, and the doctors had given in rather than fight about everyone else as well.

That didn't make this part easier, though.

Both of her parents looked more than a little angry. She'd seen them mad a few times before, but not like this. She knew it was worse than the night they'd forbid her to see JD again. “Somehow, I knew you'd be here, even if your friends tried to claim otherwise. Which does make me wonder how many other times they've lied for you.”

She gave the Heathers a scathing look for that. McNamara flinched, but Duke just shrugged, her lips curved up in a rather cruel smirk. She'd enjoyed lying to them.

There was a bit of a dark side to Duke, even if she'd mostly been a doormat for Chandler's abuse in the past. Seeing her out from under that was both good and bad.

“I know you're upset,” Veronica said, “but I _had_ to be here. JD was hurt—”

“That is not an excuse,” her mother insisted. “You knew very well how we felt about you seeing this boy, and you lied to us. You used your friend's death as an excuse to go off and see him. You did, didn't you?”

“That a crime now?” Veronica asked, rising. “You were willing to let me go as long as it was about Heather. You couldn't care less what I did because you sure as hell weren't going to do anything about my grief. Not that I was entirely mourning Heather. I was confused, and I didn't know how to feel. Part of me was relieved because she was making my life a nightmare, but then you wouldn't know about that because you didn't so much as ask me if anything she told you was true. Was it because the Chandlers had money that their word was above anyone else's? How does that even work now? Heather's dad has been arrested for raping little girls, but they're still somehow better than us? Fuck that. And you. JD was abducted and beaten and could have died, and I'm not going home with you again. I don't even want to acknowledge you as my parents. You make me sick.”

“Veronica,” Betty said, wincing. “I don't think you mean all that. You're angry and—”

“And what? She says nothing to be polite and dutiful?” Duke asked, folding her arms over her chest. “When the hell did that help _any_ of us? And yeah, I mean you, too, Betty. You act like it's a sin you're even alive. Stop apologizing for existing and don't expect any of us to, because I sure as hell won't.”

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Sawyer began. “This is a private conversation with our daughter—”

“You picked a really bad place for it, then,” Paige said, reaching up to rub her nose like it hurt. “We were all in the room when you came in.”

“Yeah,” Martha said, “only the Hunters are missing, and that's because they're meeting with the lawyers again.”

“Veronica,” her father began, trying to be calmer and seem nicer about this. “We need to talk to you. In private.”

“I'm not leaving JD. I promised. Not that I think it's worth going anywhere with you. I don't need a lecture. I broke your rules, and I don't care that I did. I did it for a good reason. You don't even know. You don't understand. You haven't bothered to ask.”

“Yeah,” Nora said, arms over her chest. “You didn't even bother asking if either of them were all right. I guess brain surgery and near death doesn't mean anything because JD committed the sin of falling for your daughter.”

“He's not that bad of a guy,” McNamara added. “We call him the scary one, but he's nice, too. He scared off Ram when he wouldn't take no for an answer, and Ram's a real creep. I only see it now, but they... they made me feel safe enough to leave him. JD and Mark. And that's good. It is.”

Mr. Sawyer frowned. He put a hand on his wife's arm, but she pulled away from him.

“Clearly the boys will be fine if you're all here,” Mrs. Sawyer said. “You need to come with us, Veronica. We're leaving.”

“No.”

“Veronica—”

“No.”

Mrs. Sawyer shook her head. “Do not make me get security. This is ridiculous. You are our daughter. You're a minor. You are coming with us. We are going to have a very long talk about all of this and your future, one that will very likely be far from here.”

“You are not sending me to boarding school.”

“If you keep up this kind of behavior, you can bet we will,” Mrs. Sawyer said. Her husband looked uncomfortable but nodded in agreement, and Veronica wanted to curse him for having no real spine. She liked her dad most of the time, but he couldn't really believe her mother was being reasonable right now. No one could. JD was in the hospital. He'd almost died. And they wanted her to leave him, knowing they'd never let him come back?

No.

“It's better this way,” her father tried to tell her. “The distance will make you see this thing for what it is, and you need to get some perspective. Love can seem so intense and involving that you can't see anything but it, and that's dangerous. You need more than that.”

Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “I have more, in case you haven't noticed. Look at all these people who can call me on my crap and do—Heather Duke over there more than anyone—and I still have school and this isn't over just because they arrested JD's dad... there will be trials and stuff.”

“And it's not like they're up and walking yet, though JD did try earlier, when he panicked,” Nora added, grimacing. That had not been good for either of the boys.

“That doesn't change the fact that Veronica lied, snuck out, and probably had sex with this boy while she was gone,” her mother said. “Now we are leaving, and you are coming with us, and if need be, I will get security to separate you from that boy, I will. This has to stop, Veronica, and you know it.”

“I am not going anywhere with you people, and don't you dare think you can make me.”

* * *

“Remember, this is temporary,” the lawyer insisted. “You've been given emergency custody of Jason for now, but there is still a chance this could get overturned at the hearing. It's a small one—I have a hard time believing anyone would think a group home or another foster family would be a better choice at this point, but it's not impossible.”

“I understand,” Brian said, just relieved to know that they now had everything in place, legally speaking, to take care of JD. Mark and Marla were never going to let him go, and Brian didn't want that kid to suffer any more than he already had. “Thank you for everything you've done for us.”

“You're welcome.”

Brian steered his wife away from the room, wanting to get back to the boys' room and tell them the news—if they were awake. They could use something good to stand against this morning, and he had to admit, he was still dreading Rhodes' return for the formal statements.

“I think we should make sure we have a real place for JD to come home to as soon as he's out of the hospital,” Marla said. “A room, his own things... We'll have to ask him for it, and we'll need some help rearranging that other room downstairs—”

“I think we'd have that,” Brian said, amused. “Just ask the girls who won't leave their room here.”

Marla smiled. “You know, I was just hoping for Mark to make one friend out here, knowing the difference it would make, but this time he went out and practically found a clan. And a brother.”

Brian nodded. He had thought a friend—a girlfriend—could help—but he didn't really think Mark would befriend everyone that was in that room. He wasn't sure any of them understood it, either, as diverse a group as they were.

When they reached the room, however, an angry standoff seemed to be happening between a couple and the girls, and he thought he was about to see another riot.

Veronica had her arms folded over her chest. “I am not going anywhere with you people, and don't you dare think you can make me.”

“If we have to, we will,” the woman insisted. “You are leaving with us. Now.”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Hunter said, and Veronica actually looked relieved as her eyes went to him. “What is going on here?”

“We're Veronica's parents,” the woman said. “We came to bring her home.”

Brian remembered her saying it wouldn't be pleasant when they found out she was here, but he saw now she'd understated it. He knew that look. That was a parent about to do something drastic to get their child to cooperate, and it was going to go badly for everyone involved.

“I know it's a lot to ask, actually, but I rather wish you wouldn't,” Marla said, and both of Veronica's parents stared at her. “I... JD was very upset earlier when he woke up and Veronica wasn't there. He almost hurt himself again, and Mark almost hurt himself trying to calm his brother down, and it's hardly a fair thing to expect, but both of them will rest a lot easier while she's here. And since there's no school today anyway, I don't know why she'd need to leave, aside from needing to freshen up a little.”

“You're kidding.”

“About our son?” Brian snorted. “Not likely. We'd prefer it if Veronica stayed, though I understand you wanting your daughter home. Still, we can't deny that having her here is a great help to JD.”

“I don't care about that. That boy is nothing but trouble and I won't have my daughter near him. She used to be so good, but he's corrupted her. He's a delinquent, violent and—”

“And in a hospital bed after nearly dying because he was adopted by a monster,” Brian interrupted, refusing to let the woman go on any longer. “I admit, I didn't think much of JD at first, but you have no idea what he's been through, and you have no right to judge him on the fight at the school. He was provoked, according to all the witnesses. He's also never been arrested or detained. You can ask my lawyer about that—he's got private investigators doing research into the Deans for our case.”

“Case?”

“We intend to get custody of JD,” Marla said. “Bud has been arrested for kidnapping and assaulting both of the boys, and we want JD to have the kind of home he should have had all along. He's not going to anyone else if I have any say in it. He belongs with his brother, and Mark has always been our son. If you'd seen him interact with Mark, you wouldn't be thinking any of that—well, other than his tendency toward profanity, I suppose.”

Veronica snorted. “They haven't even met JD.”

Brian frowned. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Veronica insisted. “Heather Chandler told them a bunch of lies about JD because she was mad I wouldn't go sleep with some jerk at a Remington party. That I dared think for myself and choose my own boyfriend.”

Brian folded his arms over his chest. “I don't think Heather Chandler is in a place to pass judgment on anyone, Mrs. Sawyer. From what I could tell, while her position may have been difficult, and I can't say for sure she thought she could actually get help, but she knew her father was targeting underage girls and said nothing. At best, she made sure her friends weren't able to be targeted, but at what price? Having them sleep with college boys? That would be statutory rape in many cases.”

Mrs. Sawyer stared at him. “I...”

“We were worried about Veronica,” Mr. Sawyer said. “We may have been... overhasty in our judgment, but as far as we knew, Heather Chandler had no reason to lie to us about the trouble this boy was or the danger Veronica was in. And we were also very upset to learn that Veronica had lied to us about seeing him again and getting her friends to lie to us as well.”

Brian nodded. Admittedly, he wouldn't be happy if his child did that, either. “I think we can reach a reasonable compromise here. Veronica stays while JD's in the hospital, and any punishment is suspended until he's better and you have a chance to meet him for yourselves. I'm not saying there won't be consequences for the lies—on either side—but all of that seems petty when yesterday JD and Mark were fighting for their lives. Sometimes we have to bend a little.”

“Please,” Marla said. “I really don't want JD to wake up and find Veronica gone again. She's just about all he has right now. He lost his mother years ago, his things were destroyed, his father almost killed him and his brother, and while we both care about JD, he is not comfortable with us. You can be assured that Veronica will not be alone with the boys, even if there's very little either of them could do to hurt her under the circumstances.”

“His fall out of bed earlier was _so_ intimidating,” the dark-haired Heather said, rolling her eyes. “I don't think I can stay in this room alone.”

“Fat chance of that,” Nora muttered. “Since no one really seems willing to leave and the hospital's given up fighting us on everyone being here.”

“Come on,” Mr. Sawyer said to his wife. “I think they're right. We can always come back and check on her later. She's safe here. What could go wrong in a hospital?”

His wife sighed. “I don't know. I just... I must seem so... horrible...”

“We all react to stress in different ways,” Marla said. “Why don't the four of us go down to the cafeteria and have some coffee together? We can talk. I'd like to get to know you a little. I haven't heard much about you, but I do like your daughter and have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of her.”

Brian fought a smile. That was a diplomatic way of saying Veronica was likely going to be their daughter-in-law. He didn't see much separating those two.

Just like the twins. Now that they knew about each other, they'd never be far apart, as this whole experience in the hospital proved.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four in the Harry conspiracy club have to come up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I was to the point where I was doing epilogue and done. I was wrong. I needed to address the issue of the moving in angle, and much as it might be simpler if Mark had made a different decision, he didn't and wouldn't, leaving me to do this instead. It's short, but it didn't seem right to tack more on after it, so epilogue later?
> 
> I went looking for music again and was reminded of a song I like and got to use it, so that was nice. Also perhaps ironic as I seem to be losing my voice to the cold thing I'm suffering from right now.

* * *

“Okay, we have a few problems,” JD said, shifting in his bed, knowing that there was no way he'd really get comfortable here. The sooner he was out of the hospital, the better, but they hadn't even been moved from this hellhole in the ICU yet. No way the doctors would want them going home. He'd leave now if he had anywhere to go, but he didn't, and he knew no one would agree to take him anywhere, even if Mark wanted to go, too, and it was only the four of them in the room again. “One, your parents are still jerks—”

“Hey, Dad apologized, and I think Mark's parents are going to win them over, just you wait,” Veronica said, sounding a bit hurt. “They're all down eating, and you know we'll get a full report from the other girls since they went down to 'eat' at the same time.”

JD wasn't going to hold his breath on that one. He didn't think Veronica's parents were ever going to like him, and he still found it hard to believe that Mark's parents had stood up for him as much as they had.

“And two, even if they arrested Bud, he's always made bail before, and he's going to come for us again,” JD said, feeling sick at the thought. He didn't want his father coming for him, but he knew Bud. He wasn't going to stop.

“Well, the good news on that end is that it's the weekend,” Veronica said, and he frowned at her. She smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. “They can't get him before a judge until Monday, so we can breathe easier for a few days.”

JD nodded, though he didn't feel that reassured. “Third, what about Hard Harry?”

“I covered for Mark last night,” Nora answered. “Spliced together a broadcast by using my tapes of the old shows and putting them together to make it sound... newer. It probably won't work twice, but at least last night was covered. Which reminds me—I better get that stuff out of the car while we have the chance. We'll record something quick and make it one of your short shows or something.”

Nora rose and rushed to the door. Then she stopped and looked back. “Oh, and before you mention four, I fed and watered the hamster and the lizard when I was there last night, so they should be okay for now.”

“Thank you,” JD heard himself say in echo as Mark did the same. He grimaced. “You know it doesn't end with covering the shows for the next night or so. Yeah, so we got last night and maybe tonight, assuming it takes them a while to eat, but what about after that? If they're really planning on having me move in—”

“We'd have to make space in my room where the equipment is,” Mark said, sighing. “Maybe we should have done that first.”

JD snorted. “Like Bud would have agreed to me staying.”

Mark winced. “Okay, no, but if we'd rearranged already, we wouldn't have to worry that they will do it without us.”

“I'm not sure Nora and I can help much with that, either,” Veronica said, grimacing. “I'm only allowed to stay because you're here, and Nora's doing a lot to cover for Hard Harry as it is. I'm still not sure how she's getting around her parents, either.”

“I don't know,” Mark said. “I don't know anything about her family.”

“That's not a crime. Don't start blaming yourself,” JD told him. Nora hadn't shared, that was her business. “She'll tell you if she wants to. What you have to worry about now is if you're willing to tell other people or not.”

“About Nora? Everyone knows.”

“Um, no, about Hard Harry. Are you on better drugs than I am?”

Mark shook his head. “No, just... not sure I know how to answer that question. I'd rather not let everyone in on that. It's... too much. I don't know that the other girls... Too many of them see Harry as a folk hero or something. It's... overwhelming. I... I want to be able to be... just Mark sometimes, you know?”

JD kind of did, since there were times when he didn't want to play the tough rebel no one fucked with because he was tired or just wanted someone to care—more before meeting Veronica than now—but it wasn't the same. “So, what, we just tell your parents?”

Mark's eyes widened in horror. “Um... no.”

“It might not be as bad as you think,” Nora said as she came back into the room, her hands full of junk. “Your father came up with the idea of having Harry's radio show be the school's. It would give him a license so no more breaking the law, and parents could consider it 'regulated' while students still get their voice.”

JD snorted. “Oh, sure, like that would last with Creswood around. She's going to censor the show and get him off air as soon as he steps past one imaginary rule. I don't even think she'd care about the kids that almost rioted at the police station.”

“So we take Creswood down first,” Veronica said, smiling, and everyone looked at her, making that smile falter a little. “In the sense that we find something that can force her to step down or be less of a bitch, I mean. We're not killing her or anything.”

JD wanted to laugh about that. He wasn't sure why Veronica could jump to that conclusion over any other. He hadn't really thought about killing anyone besides his father—well, maybe Veronica's parents, a little, and Heather Chandler, too, but Mark had offered non-violent solutions to those problems. They'd found a way around them.

“Wasn't there something about the school in your dad's stuff you wanted to look at?” Nora asked as she started setting up the equipment.

Mark nodded. “Something about students disappearing. Emerson had asked my dad about it. Plus the bogus suspensions. We might be able to do something...”

“That gives you a topic for tonight,” Nora said, “Shame you don't have access to your phone right now. You could call Emerson and ask her for more information.”

“Maybe later,” JD said. “We don't have a lot of time before they get back. Do your thing, Mark.”

“Not with you watching me.”

JD groaned. Where was he supposed to go? He couldn't really leave the bed, much as he wanted out of it. “Seriously?”

Mark looked absolutely miserable as he admitted, “Yes.”

“I'll distract him,” Veronica offered with a smirk. JD liked the sound of that. A little, though he wasn't sure that Mark would be able to do it while they were kissing, either. “And Nora... I suppose you could probably be lookout.”

“You owe me,” Nora told Mark, who flushed red and looked like he wasn't going to be able to record anything at this rate. 

JD would have teased him about it, but Veronica kissed him first.

* * *

“I kind of wish Mark felt like he could tell other people about this,” Veronica said, and Nora had to agree, since it would be easier to do this with help, but as JD was awake and not likely to sleep any time soon, Veronica could say she felt safe enough getting a shower when she took Nora home to check in with her parents, and they were covered for a while in all respects.

They'd be able to do the broadcast, feed the animals, and change clothes, which would have been enough, Nora thought, except they needed to move all of Mark's radio equipment, too. It would be more difficult tomorrow night, trying to get everything back in, but she had a feeling Mark and JD were going to push to leave the hospital by then if at all possible, which was good, because Nora knew that she couldn't set any of this up herself.

“Maybe later. I know he probably could exploit the almost dying thing to get away with this, but I'm not sure he's ready to face that with his parents,” Nora said, prepping the Leonard Cohen record. She would let it play all the way through again, like she had last night. “It'll be fine. We just need to play the music, do the tape, a bit more music, and then we take it all down and put it in the car for now. Tomorrow we can push everyone to fix JD's new room—”

“Except this is so Mark's room,” Veronica said, bending down to take JD's hamster out of his cage. “And he told us he wanted us to have the bed.”

Nora looked at her. “Really?”

Veronica flushed. “Well... we did sort of... well... you know....”

“Say no more,” Nora said, since she didn't really need details there. Oh, sure, there was some mild curiosity on her part, and it was always going to be a little awkward seeing as the boys were twins and she was only dating the one of them, but Mark was not JD and JD was not Mark. That much was pretty clear to everyone, even if it was harder to tell physically with them in bandages.

“Though I think the two of them would both prefer this room as it has the doors in and out, and I don't think JD likes being told when to come and go.”

“Probably not,” Nora agreed. “I guess we'll probably set this room for JD—Mark technically has a bedroom—and he'll have to figure out where to put his radio equipment when we're done. Unless there's another room down here. I didn't really ever get a full tour.”

“Me, either, though if there was enough space, I could almost see the Hunters offering rooms to the two of us.”

“To you, at least. They're going to want you here when JD first moves in, even if your parents hate the idea. They seem a bit more... open about teenage relationships and sexuality than I would have expected, but then—Mark did call them hippies a lot on the show.”

“Rebellion, feminism, free love,” Veronica said. “Hmm. Mark really did get the good side of the deal there.”

Nora shrugged. “With Bud Dean as competition, that doesn't say much. You better feed him and get in the shower. I'll need to switch this record, but I'll hop in after you're done, so—”

“Don't worry. I can be quick,” Veronica said, heading upstairs with the hamster. 

Nora fed Harry while she waited for Everybody Knows to finish. Veronica came back with Slushie, setting him back in the cage with some veggies to add to his pellet food. She gave Nora a smile before crossing over to the bathroom, the clothes she'd borrowed from Nora in her arms.

JD would probably regret being stuck in a hospital bed when he saw her, Nora thought with a smile as she started the tape Mark recorded earlier.

“So I've been doing a lot of thinking about these things that are festering under the surface of Sherwood. People tried to tell me that this sort of thing doesn't happen here, not what Richard Chandler did and not what Bud Dean did—and they'll say that Dean wasn't here for that long, so he's an anomaly anyway, but then we have to remember—Chandler was a pillar of the community. So how rotten is the state of Sherwood? Well, let's look again at Westerburg high, our favorite source of corruption.

“Yes, again, I turn to the old alma mater, and when one looks there, one need look no further than Mrs. Loretta Creswood. There's something about Mrs. Creswood that makes her seem worse than any other principal I've known in the past—and I've known quite a few—but I think we all know that this woman hates me as much as I hate her. She suspended a bunch of my listeners—I think she thought she might shut me down by doing that.

“I can't shut this down as long as there's so much out there that we can't say, all these things we can't get justice for... You think that the kid in the hospital, the one whose dad beat the crap out of him, you think he never tried to tell anyone? Maybe he's like the letter writer I had—he tried, but no one listened. Two people could have died because 'this doesn't happen here.'

“Bullshit. It does. It did. And where are those missing students, hmm? Several of them have just disappeared from class since the beginning of the year. They're on the rolls, so they should be here, but where are they? Do we know? Does anyone care? Has anyone been looking for them?

“I think one teacher has, but is she enough to stand against this corrupt institution? Probably not. You know what it's going to take? It's going to need a hell of a lot more. See, Creswood, she's got this attitude—and you'll forgive me a little loose interpretation with this one, but so much of this is what Creswood wants of us...”

Nora fumbled, grabbing the 'Til Tuesday album and putting it on, letting _Voices Carry_ play. She thought he'd made the wrong choice because he was drugged up until the chorus came on.

_“Hush hush, keep it down now, voices carry. Hush hush, keep it down now, voices carry...”_

Veronica came back into the room, toweling down her hair. Nora went for the instructions. There was a bit more of Mark's recorded stuff to play after the record was done. She handed them to the other girl. Veronica read them over, nodding as she mouthed along to the song. 

_“I try so hard not to get upset because I know all the trouble I'll get. Oh, he tells me tears are something to hide. And something to fear. And I try so hard to keep it inside so no one can hear.”_

Even though Nora had heard part of this when Mark made the tape, she took her time gathering up her things as she got ready to shower, wishing she could be listening to the broadcast for real.

That, and she had always dismissed this song before, but she was finding herself with a new appreciation for it now. 

_“He wants me, but only part of the time. He wants me, if he can keep me in line...”_

Veronica stopped the record player and switched back to the tape. 

“You know, if you've seen the music video, you know what happens. She stands up, yanks off her hat and screams out the part about him telling her to shut up, and it's a beautiful moment because everyone's staring at her and you know she's not going back, she's not going to take this. So neither are we. Voices carry. Talk hard. Don't stop. Let them hear you. Let them hear _all_ of us.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone works together to bring JD and Mark home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... endings are hard. Yes, very hard. And I tried, and it worked and then it didn't and then... I don't know anymore.
> 
> I do know there is at least one side story tied to this universe coming.

* * *

“I think that we can safely buy your bed for you without too much fear you'll dislike it,” Mrs. Hunter began, giving JD a wide smile. She seemed excited, though he had no idea why. He didn't see what was so appealing about that, but he knew if he said it, they'd all get mad at him, and he really didn't need that.

Better their anger than their pity, but that didn't mean he wanted to piss them off when they were going to give him a place to stay. He wasn't stupid enough to do that when he really wanted to stay close to Veronica.

Maybe he could even try for college and all that bullshit. He didn't know, but things would be different now, without Bud—if he stayed in jail, that was, and JD had his doubts about that—to where he might be able to actually do classwork and feel like it mattered. He shouldn't have to move, which was part of it, but the rest of it...

Well, his father's plan of locking him in a dark basement and torturing him for the rest of his life had kind of been the only future he saw, without killing him, so yeah, he'd never cared too much about school or trying to figure out his plans for life after high school. A dead end job, maybe, and minimum wage for life, that was him.

Mark was meant for better things, though.

“And maybe you don't care so much about the decorations, either?” Mr. Hunter suggested, and his wife gave him a look.

“I want better curtains than Mark has,” JD said, thinking of how bright that damned room had gotten in the morning. “I don't know... I've never really had a room to decorate, so I didn't give it much thought before.”

“This isn't so much about decoration, not now,” Mrs. Hunter said. “You can do as much or as little as you want when you're settled in. The main part is getting you what you need to stay with us.”

“Do you have any furniture you care about?”

JD snorted. “No, I don't. I mean... I basically lived out of moving boxes for years now. That, and mattresses on the floor. Very glamorous, for all that Bud had plenty of money. There just... wasn't much point in doing any unpacking or anything.”

“I'm so sorry,” Mark's mom said. “No child should have to live like that.”

JD bit back a groan.

“Um, not to put a downer on things, but we don't have a truck. Exactly how are you planning on getting this bed to our house?” Mark asked, frowning. “And please don't say Mom's jeep.”

Mr. Hunter grimaced. “You know, he's got a point. Looks like we'll need to see if the store can deliver for us. Better check that first so we can make other arrangements if not.”

Mrs. Hunter nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“We're coming with you to help set everything up and get the room ready, right?” Martha asked. She had her Big Fun shirt on today but still looked like she'd come prepared to work.

“And we could help with getting sheets and stuff. They should probably be washed before they go on the bed, right?” McNamara asked. “For some reason, I'm thinking blue.”

“Blue's not bad,” Veronica said. “Black would work, too. Some how I don't see JD with a lot of white around.”

“Should we paint the walls?” Betty asked. “That could be fun. Nora could do a mural for him.”

“Just Nora?” McNamara asked, pouting a little. “I've always wanted to do a mural.”

“No one said you were doing a mural in my room,” JD said, and everyone looked at him. “Hey, it's my first time decorating a place for me. I'm gonna do it myself, okay? 'Cause I could start faking the waterworks next...”

“Maybe you can do one in my room,” Mark said, shrugging. “I hate how boring and white those walls are, so... yeah.”

“And we should get you some band posters for the other walls,” Nora mused, and he looked at her. “Come on, you should decorate, too.”

“We can do that later.”

“Well, I suppose we should get going,” Mrs. Hunter said. “We've got a lot to do if we're going to get everything moved and set up by tonight. We may have to put off changing that storage room into a rec room, though... with as many of you around, you'll need somewhere to gather, won't you?”

“Gee whiz,” Duke muttered. “We're getting a clubhouse.”

“Just for that, you're not allowed in,” JD told her, and she gave him the finger. He smiled, loving pissing her off. It was almost as good as kissing Veronica. No, nothing was that good. “And the mural goes in the clubhouse.”

“Sounds good to me,” McNamara said. “We'll save the four of you a spot on the wall.”

JD didn't bother reminding her that they'd wanted Nora to be a bigger part of the mural. He just wanted them to go already.

“Unless you've reconsidered this push to get out of here?” Mr. Hunter asked, and JD just looked at him. Was he insane?

“Dad, neither of us has any interest in being stuck here a minute longer than we absolutely have to be,” Mark said. “Besides, the room can't fit everyone and the flowers that people keep sending. We're getting stuff from people we don't know, and it's... really awkward.”

“You should stay longer,” Mrs. Hunter said. “You had major surgery and—”

“What Mark means by really awkward is that random people keep walking in, saying 'look at the twins,' and pointing at us like we're an exhibit or something, and it has to stop. The move from the ICU didn't help anything. We want out of here. Now.”

* * *

Since JD didn't want do a lot of decorating, it wasn't that hard to deal with his room, not after the bed was ordered and scheduled to be delivered and a set of sheets purchased—the girls had all agreed on one set at the store, and there was no dissuading them, even if Brian hadn't meant to argue with any of them.

He found their agreement amusing, though, and he was glad they didn't have to spend long in any of the stores. He'd had this nightmare image in his head of the hours waiting as they went through every part of the store, even lingering in the bedroom furniture for no good reason.

As it turned out, the store had a set up very similar to the one already in Mark's room, and that had been a simple enough choice. The mattresses were bought without much fuss, and that was due to be delivered any time now.

The main problem was shifting Mark's stuff into the other room, the one dubbed the clubhouse, as the girls were dead set on painting their mural before moving anything in, even after Marla had gotten them to move the storage under the stairs and clean the walls and floors like they had with JD's room.

“Oh, let them do it,” Marla said, smiling at him, and he did smile back, since he did find this a little funny and her smiles tended to be a bit contagious, like their son's, on the rare occasions he gave them these days. “It's not like we're in a real rush. It's not likely to rain today, so we won't have to worry about that couch getting wet, and even if it did, it has seen better days.”

“I think we kept it mostly for nostalgic reasons,” Brian agreed, getting a blush out of his wife. He pulled her close and put his arm around her waist. “You remember how you felt disconnected out here?”

She nodded. “I had work, but that was about it. You were distant, busy with work, and if you were distant, Mark was in the solar system or something. He kept trying to bottle in how upset he was, and it didn't help—we could tell something was wrong with him, but couldn't help him. That got to both of us, and I think we retreated more even from each other.”

“Not that I ever want any harm to come to the boys again, but this did give us a very loud wake up call,” Brian said. “We need to make sure we don't let that happen to us again. I am probably more to blame than anyone—it was my job that made us move, and even though you and Mark were both unhappy here, I kept expecting you two to change instead of doing something myself.”

“Yes, but if you'd agreed to go back to New York, we might have left before JD came and Mark learned about his brother.”

“Speaking of that, you're sure you want to find out about their birth mother?”

Marla put her hand on his chest. “You don't have to worry about me. I know, even if they both find they really like that other woman, I'm still Mark's mother in every way that counts—right here, in my heart. And in his, I like to hope. Maybe I can even be something close to that for JD. I think he could use it.”

Brian nodded. “Yes, and you have it easier than I do, but then everything you do is special.”

“Oh, please,” she muttered, though she smiled at him. “I just hope if we do find their birth mother that she doesn't do anything to hurt them.”

Brian looked back at the group currently covered in paint from their group project in the clubhouse. “I think she'd have one hell of a fight on her hands if she did.”

* * *

“Okay,” Mark said, feeling a bit worn out and almost regretting insisting on leaving the hospital. He leaned against the wall, trying to keep himself upright and adjust to seeing this room as... well, a bedroom. And it was. His desk was gone, replaced by a small dresser where Slushie was happily turning over in his wheel for his audience, and a bed took up most of the other space.

JD looked like he'd just about claimed the bed, maybe enough to pass out there like Mark felt like he might do here, and since he hadn't mentioned that JD needed the other mattress because of what he and Veronica had gotten up to in that room—and didn't want to—Mark had a feeling they were going to ruin both mattresses. Maybe not tonight, but soon enough.

Great.

“Where is this mural?” Mark asked, having expected to be dragged straight to it instead of being left to stand in a crowded room. Not that he wanted to be on the bed by JD and Veronica—he didn't want to be in bed, period, but being next to them was out of the question.

“This way,” McNamara said, sounding very proud.

Nora let him lean on her as they walked down the hall to the other room, and he stopped, staring at the wall in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Okay, the capital TALK HARD across the top wasn't that unexpected, since everyone here was a Hard Harry fan—everyone but his parents—and it made sense they'd include that.

It was the rest of it that was a bit hard to understand.

“Veronica, JD, these two are you,” Duke said, though the trench coat made that a little obvious. “Too much PDA as usual.”

“I don't think Veronica can bend like that,” Mark observed and belatedly added. “Don't try it. Please, don't.”

Everyone laughed.

“And this is Mark and Nora,” McNamara said. “We decided you were the kind of sweet that you'd be reading to each other or something.”

“Oh, Mark's in her lap,” JD said. “That's so cute.”

“Screw you, JD.”

“Again, no.”

“This is Martha,” Paige said, pointing her out in the group, drawn up in a pink dress and gloves like that old time actress. “She was singing while we cleaned, so we thought she should be on stage here. Her voice is pretty good.”

“And this is Paige here, with Mazz,” Martha said. “They're dancing on top of cars.”

No one explained that part, but Mark wasn't about to ask.

“Betty's here,” McNamara said, pointing her out. “She makes clothes, so she's helping with my wardrobe. I told her she's so making me something later.”

“I'm not that good. And I've never done anything original,” Betty protested, but McNamara kept on insisting, and it was basically a lost cause. Maybe it would be good for her. If she tried making clothes on someone as forgiving as McNamara, she might be able to develop her talents into a lot more, maybe even a career.

“Hmm. I don't see a devil to represent Duke,” JD observed, looking over at her in time to catch her glare. “How is that not on there?”

“I am not the devil.”

“Says you.”

“Heather's right here, mostly covered by books,” Martha said, sounding a bit defensive of the girl who'd helped humiliate her. Then again, they were old friends, right? Made sense.

“Okay,” Nora said, “how is it no one else has mentioned the giant cow in the middle or the fact that Ram and Kurt are dancing with it?”

“I have no idea,” JD said, pulling Veronica into his arms and resting his head against hers. “But it is definitely the best part of the whole thing.”

* * *

“You could help with this, you know,” Nora grumbled as she tried to plug in the cable, unable to get it from this angle. She swore as she lost hold of it, and she thought she heard laughter behind her. “I'm not kidding.”

“Oh, we know,” JD said, giving her a big smile, “but Veronica is staying right here. I haven't had a chance to properly snuggle her since I got taken, and I'm not letting her go for anything.”

Nora rolled her eyes, going for the cord again. “You know, your bedroom is supposed to be the other one.”

“Yeah, but we already christened this mattress which makes it ours. Though... you never know. Mark could have made his own mark on it sooner. Morning wood and all that.”

“Fuck you,” Mark said, red and refusing to look at his brother as Veronica giggled. “This situation is weird enough without discussing... that.”

“Sex is not that scary, Mark. Though for you two virgins, maybe it is.”

Nora bumped her head on the desk and swore again, hating JD and his commentary. He didn't need to be so crass. She liked the bold side of Mark—Harry—and she liked to think she was bold, too, but that didn't mean she needed to hop into bed with him right away.

“Can we please just do this? Mark's going to miss the broadcast.”

“Here,” Mark said, reaching for the cable despite his condition. He plugged it in and finished it up, turning on the system. “Looks like it's working.”

“And we're on,” Nora said with relief, going over to sit next to him. “How loud is it? I mean, your parents never heard it upstairs, but they girls are here to slumber party in the other room, so...”

“They're likely to hear, if the movie's quiet, though my parents usually only heard me talking, not actual words, so it'll just sound like what it is... talking. And I don't have to do much music this time, which is a switch from using it to cover for the fact that I'm not here, but... yeah. It'll be okay, more or less. And if necessary, people can run interference.”

“Which shouldn't be necessary because there's this idea that in spite of how hurt both of you are, we all came in here for a mini-orgy,” Veronica said, enjoying that as much as her boyfriend did.

“Very nice.”

Mark took Nora's hand. “Just ignore them. If we let it bother us, they'll do it more. Just concentrate on the important stuff.”

“Like the broadcast?”

“I was thinking more like... we're alive and we're home and those are all good things.”

Nora nodded. “Yeah, they are. Speaking of—and not that you've made this easy to say or anything, but... welcome home, JD.”

He tugged Veronica closer to him. “That's strange to think. Never really had one before, not since my mom died.”

“You've got one now,” Mark promised him, and JD smiled back at him before burying his face in Veronica's neck, apparently unwilling to share any feelings that weren't to do with her. Mark shrugged, turning back to the radio.

He turned it on, played a bit of _Everybody Knows,_ and cut it off early.

“It's that time again, Sherwood. Yes, it's time to say goodnight to this sleepy little town. We won't say it's a place where nothing every happens because we know that's not true, but all the same... this is the place we call home.... and some of us are even glad to be here.”

Nora smiled at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“We're alive, and we may be bruised and battered and nearly broken, but we're still not finished. We're not done. We have a lot left in us yet—stories to tell, battles to fight, love to find—and we've got a lot ahead of us. Who knows what is to come?

“Not me, that's for sure, but you know what? I'm curious to find out,” Mark said, looking around at the rest of them. “And I know I won't be doing it alone.”


End file.
